


Falling Vs. Flying

by Emptylester (timelordangel)



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Drugs, Humor, Love, M/M, Sex, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2018-09-20 23:06:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 38,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9520025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timelordangel/pseuds/Emptylester
Summary: When twenty-two year old Dan Howell’s easy life as a college drop-out working at a DIY shop gets tangled up in the life or death schemes of a high profile drug lord, nothing will ever be the same again.But is that the worst thing in the world?AKA: Dan is is a college drop out and Phil is a high profile drug lord, leggo!





	1. Response

"You don’t have to be happy at all, to be happy you’re alive"  
\- Diana Goodman

Dan Howell lives alone. He watches TV alone, eats dinner alone, and jacks off in the shower each morning, alone. Which is, you know, fine for a twenty-two year old bachelor with a bad habit of ordering pizza three times a week.

But it kind of drives him up the wall. 

He’s got friends, sure. Mates galore. That’s exactly why he’s drunk alone on a Thursday night watching Great British Bake Off while texting his coworker about covering her shift on Sunday. What a fucking trip. 

“I think I want the hours,” his co-worker texts back. 

“You know you’ll get plastered sat night and ask me sunday morning, come on,” he replies, glaring at his phone. 

“sry dan, not feeling it xx,” she replies and Dan has a feeling he won’t get anything else out of her.

He doesn’t know if he wants the shift because of money or because he doesn’t want to end up alone on Sunday night again. Who cares, anyway? Fuck her.

He crosses his arms and allows his phone to slip between the cushion and the sofa frame. It’s cool in his apartment; the sun has long set over the city outside. He pulls the couch blanket over his knees and tucks his lanky frame into the side of the sofa. 

It’s maybe one am, which is an early night in The Life of Dan, but he’s been working himself sick lately. With a reluctant resignation he allows his eyes to slip shut and with the dull roar of the TV in the background, he sleeps.

Honestly, he’s not sure if it’s a dream or reality when he jerks awake to the sound of a deafening crash.

It’s a moment of sharp, intense fear and then he’s being manhandled. Massive, rough hands grab his wrist and he’s being dragged face-first into the carpet. His cheek is scraped along the floor and he’s too stunned to cry out in pain- his wrists are being bound and someone has a foot to his back. 

It’s not two seconds before his head is being yanked back and a gag being shoved into his mouth muffles his immediate yell. Everything is strangely silent, and calculated. Dan’s body is kicked into overdrive and he fights against the two forces holding him down, but there are a solid 130 kg pinning him to the floor and he can feel the circulation in his wrists quickly fading. 

“Alright, Marcel. Boss has had it with you, this time you’re not getting out alive,” A gruff voice says in his ear. “Don’t worry though, you’ll feel every second of agony.” 

Dan gives a muffled whine, unable to do much else.

“Uh, hey J, we sure this is the guy?” Another man says from across the lounge. 

“’Course, Racco. This is 2-402, right?” The man on top of Dan suddenly seems unsure. 

Dan’s heart sinks. He’s in 3-402. He gives out a whimper and shakes his head violently. 

“Um,” Racco turns around with a Mario plushie in his hand, “Maybe we should double check.”

“Fuck,” J says. “Ask Nico.”

“Where’s Nico?” 

“Keeping watch, man. What are you, fucking stupid? Go check with him,” J spits on the carpet inches from Dan’s face.

Dan is thinking about how he’s going to die. His life isn’t flashing before his eyes, in contrary, he can’t think of much at all. He wonders if it’s going to hurt, or if they’ll be kind. He thinks about his mum and dad. If they’ll care. He doesn’t allow himself to think about his grandma, who passed two weeks ago. She’d care, if she were around.

He wishes he felt more fear, but mostly he just feels horribly numb. Good thing Catherine didn’t give him her shift. His boss is gonna be pissed.

Suddenly a shorter, less fit man enters his flat smoking a cigarette and Dan feels a pang of annoyance that feels very out of place in the moment. 

“Bad news, hombre.” Nico drawls in an American accent, blowing out smoke, “We got the wrong place. This is a different unfortunate fucker.” 

“Oh my god,” J groans, but doesn’t let up his hold. “You two are incompetent.” 

“J, Nico, we gotta go get the real Marcel. What the fuck we supposed to do with this one?” Racco rubs at the back of his neck. 

Dan feels it. Sharp, real fear that makes bile rise in the back of his throat. He’s about to be killed, and the shallow amount of air making it to his lungs is restricted further. 

“Boss’ll be mad as hell if we kill ‘em.” Nico muses, unsettlingly calm as he puffs on the last few inches of cigarette.

“Nah,” J says, and Dan’s heart re-starts, “We’re just gonna roofie him. Fuckass ain’t gonna call the police because he knows if he does, he’ll have us after his ass. Right, bud?” 

J kicks Dan and Dan furiously nods, making noises of agreement. 

“Smart one.” Racco nods, “Alright.” 

J lets up at this point but Dan’s extremities are too void of blood flow to fight any more. The man on top of him digs a few white tablets out of a small plastic bag and yells at Racco to fetch him a glass of water. 

Dan’s still terrified, but it’s better than death. When Racco returns with a glass of cloudy red water, Dan feels sick again.

“I mixed it with a little of the Ribena you had in there, to make it better. This won’t do much more than make you pass out for a few hours.” Racco explains in a soft voice, which Dan finds himself trusting. 

J reaches around and roughly removes the gag, and Dan coughs. 

“Drink.” J orders as he pulls Dan off the floor from his armpits. 

“Fine.” Dan speaks for the first time, his voice hoarse. The tablets are almost completely dissolved in the glass.

“You won’t call the police, will you?” Racco asks.

“No.” J interrupts, “He won’t.”

“I won’t.” Dan confirms, biting back his fear as he takes a tentative sip. It takes like very watered down Ribena. 

“Come on, we got a job to do.” Nico drawls from the door, where he is leaning with his hands in his pockets.

Dan downs the rest of the glass in under a minute and his head almost instantly begins to spin.

“Did you just poison me?” He slurs, falling back against the couch. He grips at the carpet.

“No, amigo. Goodnight.” J laughs sharply as they gather at the door.

Nico, Racco, and J all watch him lose consciousness rapidly. It feels like the entire flat is spinning, morphing, and hurling Dan into the murky abyss of space. It’s wild and intense and then suddenly it’s nothing at all, and as Dan slumps against the floor of his lounge he falls into a deep sleep.

Dan wakes up at three in the afternoon to a lounge bathed in sunlight. He’s barely awake before he’s vomiting on the carpet, his head spinning. Red saliva runs down his face as he gasps for air and clutches at his shirt. 

“Fuck.” He whispers, remembering the events of the previous night. 

After half an hour and a hot shower Dan feels fine physically, to his amazement. So that was it, he figures. A gang casually raided his home and he was just supposed to forget about it.

His boss calls him and asks why he isn’t at work a little bit later and Dan contemplates telling the truth before settling on he passed out and didn’t wake up in time. Thankfully, he has never skipped work so he’s let off with a warning. Dan wonders if anyone in their right mind would believe this story- Dan questions if it even happened.

It isn’t until he’s watching TV later that night when he notices something. Or more, he notices the lack of something. He isn’t really paying attention to the TV, his eyes flickering back and forth from the TV to the other furniture in the room, and always back to the front door. Locked. 

The amber lamp he bought in India is not where it normally sits on the sofa side table, and nothing sits in its place. It’s a brief moment of confusion followed by clarity- it was stolen from him. Of course, what more did he expect from mob men who threatened to kill him, but it was his favourite piece. 

He’s lucky they left with just the lamp, and not his life, but that lamp was something special. He’d had it since he visited India with his parents and grandmother and it had been a steady, glowing constant in his life. It makes him sad in way he can’t quite explain. He runs his fingers over the expanse of table left empty and frowns, wondering if he’ll ever leave England again- much less go back to India.

He pretty much manages to repress the entire event and the feelings over the stolen lamp, until two days later when a letter shows up on his kitchen counter. It wasn’t even in the post- it just appears on the counter one day when Dan gets home from work. 

“The fuck?” Dan frowns, the letter having no address, return address, or stamp. It’s just Dan’s name, written in ostentatious swirly print with a wax seal on the envelope. 

“Dan,” Dan begins reading the letter aloud, “I’d like to offer my apologies for your… unfortunate morning the other day.”

After a space, it continues.

“My men are competent but human, and they made a mistake which cost you half of your Friday. For this I am infinitely sorry, but I’d like to offer you compensation for your troubles. Do not worry about the correct recipient of their mission the other day, for he was in my many debts. I hope the rest of your week and the rest of your life are… pleasant.” 

The letter is signed at the bottom but Dan can barely make out the signature. He thinks it says Phil for the first name, but the second is L and then unintelligible. Held together inside the letter are twenty hundred pound notes. Dan blanches, disbelieving. 

It’s a lot to take in and Dan steadies himself on the counter. Suddenly, like a pound of bricks dropped directly on his head, he has a thought.

An overwhelming aspect of Dan’s personality is that he doesn’t really care about anything. Not university, which he dropped out of a year ago, not his job, not his life- he really finds it difficult to care about a single thing. But this- this random accident that ended with him drugged with a carpet burn on his forehead- he cares about.

The carpet burn on his head must have sparked a flame in the section of his mind that hasn’t given a single shit in ten years because suddenly he feels his blood stirring beneath his skin. 

It’s scary, and insane, and probably the stupidest idea he’s ever had, but now he’s got a solid lead to whoever broke into his flat. 

He’s going to get his damn lamp back. 

 

The night drawls to a close and finds Dan hunched over his laptop, typing, “Phil L mob boss London” into Google. There are no results that hold any water.

“London mob scene” he types next.

The results are varied, mostly from films or other works of fiction, but one link catches his eye. It’s a blog post from a man named Cane Lenard who wrote his thesis on crime activity in big cities. He mentions how the drug scene in London has been growing over the past few years and how the cocaine industry is thriving.

Dan scrolls quickly, skimming over the information. One line sticks out.

“Most of the big bosses in London came from another life of crime, often coming from prison or other drug schemes in different cities (Glouser, p. 445).”

Could this Phil guy be a drug boss? He thinks to himself, frowning. He isn’t even sure what a drug boss is, but surely it’s not somebody you want to mess with.

On a whim, Dan opens a new tab. With slightly shaky fingers, he types, “Phil L UK prison.” 

There’s an immediate hit for HM Prison Manchester, Phil Lester. Dan learned at his short time at Law School that all prison records are public domain, but it’s shocking to put them to use. 

He’d seen Strangeways a million times, having gone to Manchester University, but he’d never thought much about it. Now, as his hands shake and his mind reels, he clicks on the link. The screen changes to a prisoner identification form that doesn’t reveal much information- just name, crime, and sentence served along with identification features. 

The picture is of a thin man with get black hair growing long at the sides; the man, Phil, looks wildly innocent and calm in the picture. Dan isn’t convinced it’s the same person.

Phil Lester  
Male- 30/01/1987  
22 y/o at time of incarceration  
Hair- Black  
Height- 6’2  
Weight- 79kg

He’s young, Dan realizes. He reads on, and makes a mental note of the rest.

Phil was convicted of embezzlement and fraud of over £40,000 in 2009, and he proceeded to serve two years in prison before he was granted parole for good behaviour. After serving a year on parole and complying with every drug test and court date, his case was closed. He managed to pay back the stolen money during the year he was on parole, which made his case open and shut.

Dan screenshots the page and goes back to Google, typing in “Phil Lester drug boss London” and waits.

There are fewer results this time, and the original post from Cane Lenard reappears. A few posts down, however, reveals a chat log screen captured from three months prior that was posted on a Reddit page. 

It’s barely legible, but it’s two men talking about finding cocaine. One of them was claiming he met a guy who helped him out in a club, and he claimed to be some kind of drug lord. 

“Called himself Ripto but I nabbed his wallet- his license says Phil Lester.” The user was saying, “Didn’t even have any money. And his wallet was a Batman wallet.”

Dan frowns, disbelieving, but finds the username of the one making the claim and types it into Google, finding the guy’s twitter almost instantly. Luckily, there are only a few tweets and he manages to scroll back until three months prior. 

At two am, the guy had tweeted “Goin to xroads with the lads xx” and Dan smiles to himself.

So if he really wants to find this Phil guy, he just figured out that Phil went to the local club Crossroads. The chance of finding him again might be slim, but Dan figures it’s worth a shot- considering it’s all he has on Phil right now.

Just like that, his Friday evening is sorted.


	2. Kronos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sometimes there is no next time, no time outs, no second chances. Sometimes it’s now or never." - Unknown

Crossroads is about an hour from Dan’s flat. The train journey is the least of Dan’s problems- the most important being the fact that he is on a mission to find a drug lord. 

It’s a freezing night in the middle of January and very few people are out for a Friday night, but Dan tucks his hands into his pockets and walks on. The wet asphalt twinkles under the street lamps like stars in the night sky. Dan forces himself to focus on the stretch of street ahead and not on the ground.

Even the club’s bouncer looks bored to tears as he barely glances at Dan’s ID and waves him in. The club is half full of sweaty bodies and drunken people dancing and shouting along to the music; Dan feels out of place.

“Hey!” He yells out of necessity to a girl at the bar beside him. She’s got dark, curly hair and eyes that glance over at him like she doesn’t give a fuck what he has to say. He almost laughs.

“Hi,” She says in a normal voice, rendering her words useless. 

“I’m looking for someone, uh,” Dan scrubs at the back of his neck, “Ripto?”

If this is what the guy goes by, according to the Reddit person, then maybe he’d have a better chance using his fake title. 

She squints, “Never heard of him. Is he a friend?” 

“No- not really. Just, uh, it’s really loud in here!” Dan clears his throat in time with the reverberating bass. 

“Try Greg- he knows everyone!” She ends with a shrug, turning back to her drink. 

Dan doesn’t know who Greg is- one more person to add to his list. For a moment his mission feels futile. It takes approximately three seconds of MUSE beginning to play over the speakers for Dan to gain the courage to continue.

Greg is the bartender. Dan learns this when a patron drunkenly yells “Greg, mate, two more pints!” only to have the bartender turn a deaf ear. 

“Hi,” Dan says, now in a corner of the bar where the music is softer.

“Hi, what can I do for you?” Greg wipes down the counter.

“Um, I’ll take a Jack and coke. Neat. Also, I’d like to know if you could help me find someone,” Dan gives his best attempt at a casual smile and Greg pauses in his motions.

“Who?” 

“Um, Ripto.” 

“No.” Greg says sharply, meeting Dan’s eyes for the first time with a glare.

“O-okay. Never mind.”

“Do yourself a favour kid, don’t. And if you do, don’t ever bring that shit into my club,” Greg slams his Jack and Coke down with a little too much force and walks away.

“What the hell?” Dan whispers to himself, taking his drink and retreating from the bar. He weaves between people and finds himself leaning against a wall with a couple older men.

“We’re leaving in fifteen.” One says just loudly enough for Dan to hear.

“I don’t- I don’t want to, come on, Chris,” The blond beside the first one grimaces. 

“Well I can’t just go alone,” Chris snarls. 

“No, just take Samuel,”

“He’s fucking Danielle! What the fuck am I supposed to- fuck, Elijah!” Chris huffs.

“Don’t speak to me like this, okay? I don’t like what you get up to. I don’t like the person you become- “ Elijah backs towards Dan.

“I don’t want to have this conversation right now-“ Chris rolls his eyes, evident even in the dark of the club.

“You never want to have this conversation. I’m calling a car,” Elijah storms off and Chris leans back against the wall, groaning. 

“Sorry about that, dude,” Chris laughs sharply, turning towards Dan.

“It’s alright. Where are you going that he doesn’t want to go so badly?” 

“It’s, uh, nowhere,” Chris grimaces, “he doesn’t like that I do coke, I guess.”

Dan feels his heart jolt. This was it, his intuition told him suddenly; this was his way to find Phil. On a dangerous ledge, Dan jumps.

“I do, too.” Dan says with mock confidence.

“I just do it occasionally, you know?” Chris seems more at ease after Dan’s confession.

“Yeah, I just moved here though. Not sure where to get it.” Dan continues lying. The club lights mix with his drink and they all swim together in his head.

“Hey, that’s actually where I was going. My dealer gets his supply today about fifteen minutes from here, I thought I’d go and try to get the wholesale price, you know?” 

“Oh, so you’re going?” Dan shrugs, ignoring the way his heart throbs in his chest.

“I guess if Elijah went home, no,” Chris pauses, “but, if you’re up for buying I’m sure you could come with?”

“Yeah, definitely. I,” Dan hesitates, unsure, “have… two hundred quid, is that enough?” Truthfully, he has all the money from the letter in his wallet.

Chris laughs, “You musta moved from one hell of a place. Come on, let’s go,” Chris laughs deeply and Dan has no idea why.

Downing the rest of his drink, Dan leaves the glass on a random table and follows Chris out a back door in the club. They pass through a heard of smokers who all give them head nods and say nothing, and then through a wet alleyway that leads to a street with a lot of cars and trash bins. 

“He’ll pick us up here in five,” Chris nods nervously, his veil of confidence deteriorating a little under the faint light from the back of a shop.

“So, um,” Dan laughs a little, “have you done this before?”

“Once, with Elijah. He wasn’t happy about it.” Chris grimaces against the back of his hand. 

They don’t speak for a few minutes as Dan checks his phone. He only looks up once a car pulls into the alley with blinding headlights.

A tall man with curly hair and a stern expression steps out of the driver’s side and walks up to them with a hand out.

He shakes Chris’ hand firmly and then turns to Dan and says, “Are you Elijah?” 

“No, I’m, uh, Dan,” Dan stutters, wishing suddenly he’d said a fake name.

“I’m PJ.” PJ gives his hand a shake and then they’re getting back into the car. 

True to Chris’ word, they drive about fifteen minutes and then PJ turns off the headlights before he stops driving. They go slowly for another five minutes and then PJ turns off the car entirely. 

“Come on, then.”

Dan is sure if he wasn’t going to die the other night in his flat, his time is here and now. They enter a warehouse-esque building in the middle of west London at one thirty-six in the morning and Dan feels like he’s about to shit his trousers.

“Is this a dream?” Dan whispers to himself and Chris hears and shoots him a look.

“So, what’s the source of this lot?” Chris says softly to PJ as Dan trails behind.

“Ripto.” 

“The best, then,” Chris smiles.

Dan's heart constricts.

“Less bang for the buck,” PJ gives an offhand nod, “but less chance of laced shit.” 

When they hit the end of a corridor, there is an abandoned supply room with dozens of boxes lined on platforms and stacked in corners. In the center, there is a group of three people standing on nine shipping pallets pushed together.

The room reeks of weed.

“Good morning, boys.” PJ walks up to one of the three people and kisses him on both cheeks. The rest get handshakes. 

“You slow us down, Peej.” The one with bright blue hair shakes his head, but he’s smiling.

“They’re friends, and if I get a cut of your sales I’m not against some pre-street action, Ty” PJ glances around, “Where’s Ripto?”

Dan about gasps. He’d been right after all- this is where he’d find Phil. All things considered, it was pretty damn easy. 

“He doesn’t get involved with getting here early anymore, too risky,” Tyler shakes his head, “and speaking of risk, let’s get on with this.”

“Alright. Chris wants an eightball-“ 

“I do not,” Chris jumps in, stepping closer, 

“A teener?” PJ’s taking the piss here, and the four men on the platform are roaring. Dan is at a loss.

“Fuck you,” Chris laughs, harshly, “I want two grams.”

“Let me this this straight,” Tyler begins, 

“You can’t get anything straight,” One of the others interrupts,

“Shut the fuck up, Felix, I just wanted to make sure that this kid actually came to the switch off to buy two grams!” Tyler laughs.

“Okay, but what does that kid want?” 

All eyes turn to Dan and Dan blanches. 

“Um,” Dan coughs and it comes out sounding like someone has strangled him. “One… gram?” 

“Ah, he’s a joker.” Tyler rolls his eyes, “Out with it then, what are you here for?” 

“Phil.” Dan says suddenly, overcome by fear.

“Fuck.” Felix low whistles. 

“Okay, what?” Peej whispers, “How the fuck do you know who Phil is?” 

“He’s a narc!” Felix yells, running forward and tackling Dan to the ground. 

Dan can’t hear or see briefly as he collides with the floor. Suddenly, an aggressive man is patting him down and his wallet is being taken. 

“Doesn’t seem to have any weapons or listening devices.” Felix deems, dragging Dan to his feet a couple minutes later.

“I’m not a narc!” Dan growls, his head pounding, “I’m here because I owe Phil money. I want to repay him.” 

“What are you, twenty?” Peej squints. 

Felix still has Dan’s hands behind his back. Tyler is looking through his wallet. 

“Shit, this kid has money. Why do you have so much on your person?” 

“It’s Phil’s!” Dan feels fear flooding through him and regret hits ice cold in his veins. This money is going to be stolen and he's going to be killed.

“Kill him.” The very last person to speak finally does, and it’s the very last thing Dan wants to hear.

“Louise, no.” Peej shakes his head, “he’s a kid.”

“You don’t get to say anything here, recruiter. We’re running this operation and we get to decide what happens to narcs that you bring in! Kill him-“

“Actually,” A voice says from across the room, “I’m running this operation. Who are we not killing?”

The entire dynamic of the room shifts as everyone seems to cower with fear, or respect, or something. Dan can’t see the owner of the voice as he says locked in Felix’s grasp.

“Ah, boss.” Tyler swallows hard, “Good evening.”

“Good evening. Who is this?” Phil finally rounds Dan and looks him square in the eye. 

Dan feels like he’s going to be sick the second he sees Phil’s eyes. They’re a very unnatural murky brown, disgustingly dark in contrast to his skin. He’s in a red button down shirt and black trousers- his hair is a black mop. He doesn’t look like a drug lord.

In fact, they look unnervingly similar. 

“He’s-“ Louise begins,

“Let him introduce himself,” Phil stops her.

“I’m D-dan. Dan Howell.” Dan’s blood roars in his ears and his chest is tight.

“And are you a narc, Dan Howell?” Phil says casually, everyone else dead silent.

“No,” Dan stammers, “I’m twenty two,”

“Men, Louise, I’m tired. I came to pick up and leave and I’m met with this,” Phil sighs, turning at last to the small crowd. “No more sales from exchange, okay? And none to… kids.” 

“I’m twenty two!” Dan doesn’t mean to say it, but his arms are losing feeling. 

“Ha, a little fight in him, ay?” Tyler jokes.

“Did you check for weapons? Tracking devices? ID?” Phil deadpans, like he’d rather be anywhere else. He is the only person acting like it is actually almost three am. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” Felix explains, and Dan has had every inch of him explored so he knows it is the truth.

“Then why is he being restrained?” 

“Because he has two thousand pounds in his wallet,” Louise says.

“It’s true.” Peej nods, and Chris joins in.

“Dan, why do you have that money on you?” Phil asks softly.

“It’s yours, actually,” Dan coughs, mustering all the courage in him, “I am returning it. I’d like my lamp back.”

“You’re…” Phil’s murky eyes go wide, “Oh.” 

“What is it, boss?” Tyler asks.

“Shush,” Phil snaps at him, “Peej, get Chris whatever he needs and leave, please. Tyler, Louise, Felix- is the stuff sorted?”

“Yeah, it’s ready to go but what-“ Felix says.

“Let go of him. Dan stay here,” Phil takes off his backpack that looks straight out of an edgy teen store and tosses it at Louise, “Louise you know the drill, meet me by my bike in ten minutes.” 

Everyone disperses pretty quickly; Dan says shock-still in the midst of the organized chaos. The atmosphere lingers and twists at his lungs and as Phil takes his wrist and commands him to follow; his bones feel too heavy. 

The end up at Phil’s bike- that is a black motorcycle striped with red along the edges. Phil puts on glasses and hands Dan a pair. 

“You’ll want these,” Phil smirks, “I drive fast.”

“I’m?” Dan stammers, shoving the glasses on with shaking hands, “Coming with you? Where? Are you going to kill me?” 

“Shush,” Phil frowns, glancing around, “Don’t speak.” 

Louise steps out of a door a few minutes later and hands Phil his original bag and a slip of paper. 

“Thanks, babe. I’ll see you later. Say hi to Darcy for me,” Phil smiles.

“Not in a million years, sweetheart,” She kisses his cheek, “be safe.”

Phil puts his backpack on and motions to Dan, “Get on.”

Dan does so as Louise leaves through the same door in which she arrived. 

“So, where are we going?” Dan can’t keep the shake out of his voice.

“I’m taking you home. And you’re going to stay there,” Phil speaks up over the roar of the engine. 

Dan shouts a question that gets lost in the noise as they speed away, leaving the abandoned warehouse and terrifying people far behind. They zip through the streets of London at three-fifteen in the morning and none of it feels real.

The breeze against Dan’s hair is miserable in the six-degree temperatures, but Dan feels very aware for the first time in about seven years.

Maybe it is because he can feel the blood pulsing through his veins for the first time in an hour, or because the thunderous engine of a motorbike beneath him has replaced the roaring of blood in his ears. 

He’s never been on a motorbike. He is pretty sure they should be wearing helmets. 

Dan wraps his arms around Phil’s body, half obstructed by his backpack. The warehouse had smelled of weed and must, but Phil smells like lavender and coffee. Dan inhales and exhales no short of ten times; he keeps his breathing steady and even and thinks of home.

Thinks of his wreck of a tiny flat waiting for him, empty. 

Thinks about his dead end job at a stupid DIY store.

Thinks about the way right here, right now, on the back of a motorcycle owned by someone who obviously runs a very illegal drug cartel out of sketchy abandoned warehouses- he feels more alive than he has in years.

He breathes evenly and thinks about that instead.


	3. Capsize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Somebody asked me if I was looking for something. I am looking for everything." - Sam Sheridan

Phil gets lost. 

“I thought you lived near Highland?” Phil says after turning off the bike in frustration forty-five minutes later. 

“Highland Circle Drive- Highland is near the other side of London,” Dan frowns.

“So the Highland Ave. near Emerald Park is… not where you live?” Phil looks exhausted.

“No. We’re about thirty minutes from my flat.”

“Listen, Dan,” They’re stopped on the side of an empty road, “I’ll take you back home tomorrow, but right now we’re about five minutes from my house and I’m about to pass out.”

“Fine, I’ll sleep on the couch,” Dan shrugs, “Just don’t kill me.”

Phil rolls his eyes as he starts up the motor again. It’s about five minutes later when they pull into an underground parking garage and Phil waves a tenant card to make the gate open. 

When he’s parked, they both slide off the motorcycle and Phil leads them to a lift on the other side of the garage. 

“Is this your bat cave?” Dan laughs, sleep drawing at his face and begging him to lie down. 

“Not really,” Phil says as he presses “15” on the lift panel. 

“Top floor, fancy,” Dan tries again, but Phil says silent.

As it turns out, the entire top floor of the building is Phil’s. When the lift door opens, Phil has to key in a special code to access the floor, and then they step into the lounge. 

It’s incredible. Dan feels like he is in the lobby of a five-star hotel, or maybe in the White House or the Queen’s Palace. When Phil throws down his bookbag on the white leather sofa and kicks his shoes off to reveal multicoloured socks, Dan wonders if Phil even really lives here.

“This is incredible,” Dan’s mouth is still open.

“Mostly just for appearances, if I take clients here,” Phil shrugs.

“Clients?” Dan sits on the matching adjacent leather couch, tucking his knees together. 

“Yeah. I’m not a… bad guy, Dan,” Phil massages his temples, staring up at the ceiling, “This is just my job.”

“Weird day job,” Dan retorts, finally relaxing a bit onto the sofa. 

“How did you find me?” Phil finally asks.

“You signed your name on the card,” 

“You found me within a week because of a sprawled signature on a card with no return address, or any identification? Wow,” Phil laughs, running a hand through his hair. 

“I think a bit of it was dumb luck and a lack of a life,” Dan shrugs. 

“I’ll get them to give you the lamp back,” Phil yawns and his jaw cracks loud enough to make Dan flinch. “The door is locked, if you try to leave an alarm will go off. Wake me up if you want to go home.”

Not when, Dan notes, if. Okay.

“So I’ll just sleep here, then,” Dan looks down at the white leather. 

“I have a spare room, or three,” Phil smiles warmly, “Or take the couch. My room is at the other end of the flat, just pick anywhere you want.” 

“You live alone?”

“Yeah. Just me.” Phil shrugs in a way Dan can only interpret as forlorn. 

At four sixteen in the morning, Dan finally settles into a small room with floor to ceiling windows, much like the rest of the flat. He picks it because the bedding is gray and white squared, and there is a salt lamp in the corner that he doesn’t bother turning off. Locking the door behind him, he strips down to his boxers and climbs in a stranger’s guest bed. 

Morning comes long after the rise of the sun; settling comfortably into the crevices of the afternoon. Dan blinks a few times at the off-white ceiling before his brain registers where he is and he has to regain his bearings. 

First things first, he’s in the house of a drug boss. This is certain. 

Second order of business- he’s starving. This is somewhat more of a pressing issue. 

He eases out of bed and slides on his jeans and t-shirt from the day before- they’re a little grungy. He runs a hand through his hair and hits the en-suite he thought was a closet last night. 

The lights are blinding and square and make his pupils look like boxes. He throws a face at the mirror and ignores the bags under his eyes. He takes a selfie on his phone in the square lights. 

“Alright. You’re fine, time to go home.” Dan clears his throat and smiles at his pasty reflection. 

He makes sure his wallet and phone and keys are on his person and then unlocks his bedroom door. The house looks even bigger and whiter in broad daylight and he hears the sound of water running in the distance. Phil's socks are still by the sofa.

“Phil?” Dan tries, his words echoing off the walls of the flat. 

There is no reply as Dan ventures carefully into the kitchen, opening the fridge with a hopeful expression. Maybe he will find ingredients and he can play around.

There is bread.

In the fridge.

What.

Dan almost laughs, shaking his head. Along with the fridge bread he finds eggs and a lemon. On a whim he searches for cayenne, butter, and salt. In five minutes he has hollandaise sauce and he’s sliding bread into the toaster. 

While he waits for the toaster and the water for the eggs to boil, he wanders towards the side of the house with Phil’s bedroom. About half way down the long, wide hallway with floor length windows, Dan stops in his tracks. 

The water noise was coming from a rain-simulating shower like nothing Dan has ever seen. It has a wooden base, and now water is falling from the ceiling onto the center. There are no walls to block the view- and it is certainly a view. 

The entire shower is facing a window that looks over the streets of London, and Phil is naked, facing the window.

Dan stares. God help him- he stares.

Phil looks ethereal with the natural light from the window reflecting off his drenched skin. He’s beautiful, with a defined ass and soft thighs, comfortable hips guiding Dan’s eyes up to a pale back and firm shoulders. 

Phil pushes an absent hand through his wet hair and Dan feels his chest throb anew with something he’s definitely been repressing his entire life.

In the distance behind Dan, the toaster pops.

Phil flinches and turns on instinct, and Dan blinks hard and turns on his heels, running back to the kitchen.

He meanders around the kitchen and hopes to whatever powers may be that Phil didn’t see him, or will pretend as such. 

Because Dan isn’t gay. Or bisexual, or anything other that heterosexual. He’s straight, thank you very much. 

Maybe Phil is intriguing; maybe he’s the type of mysterious powerful drug lord that you’d want to play a round of Skyrim with after a long night of drug trades on fast motorcycles. But that doesn’t, nor will it ever, mean anything.

Dan pauses half-way through a plating a poached egg when Phil emerges from his hallway with fresh clothes on and glasses.

“Good morning,” Phil raises his eyebrows at the spread and Dan notices Phil’s eyes are a startling shade of blue behind black frames, “how did you sleep?”

Dan swallows hard and says, “Great. It’s like, four pm. Your eyes are blue?” 

The blue eyes in question flicker to the floor and then return to meet Dan’s. “Yeah, my contacts are coloured brown so people aren’t as quick to recognize me.”

“Smart,” Dan can’t help his smile, focusing his eyes on the two plates. He almost asks how Phil slept.

He decides instead to say, “Why’d you name yourself after a Spyro villain?” 

Phil bursts into laughter, almost doubling over as he takes a seat at the breakfast bar. “Oh, you caught that.”

“You’re a nerd, which is kind of something I didn’t expect,” Dan grins, unable to help himself, “Ripto was a staple of my childhood.” 

“Mine as well,” Phil smiles, but finally waves at the food, “You’re cooking.”

“Yeah?” Dan barks out a laugh, and Phil flinches.

“For you or,” Phil purses his lips,

“Both of us. Eggs benedict,” Dan smiles, “minus the bacon, considering your fridge was pretty bare.”

“I don’t really, what’s the word for it-“ Phil frowns, “eat. Often.”

“That’s why you’re so scrawny,” Dan teases, but he’s not smiling.

“I don’t know how to cook, my mum loved the microwave. I’m awake at weird hours and afraid to show my face too often in public,” Phil explains, “It’s just something I accidentally fell into over the years.”

“The years? You’re what, twenty-six? Seven?”

“I’m thirty next week,” Phil pouts, “you’re only twenty-two, I’ve got eight years on you.”

“Ugh, old man,” Dan shakes his head, mock grimacing. 

“Little kid,” Phil retorts as Dan takes a seat beside Phil at the breakfast bar. Two cups of coffee join two plates of food.

“So,” Dan mumbles around the first bite of poached egg, “how’d you end up… whatever it is you’re doing?” 

“It’s kind of complicated,” 

“Well. I’ve got time, trapped in your flat,” Dan shrugs.

“Basically, I was an accountant for a Wall Street investment firm in America-“ 

“You don’t sound American,”

“I’m not, I got a job offer for Bernard L. Madoff investment securities LLC in New York after I graduated uni early and ended up in New York City. Unfortunately I learned I was really good at my job and nobody really questioned what I wrote down,” Phil worries at his lower lip and Dan suddenly feels bad for asking. 

“So you what, stole some money?” 

“I embezzled a lot of money over the course of four years, unfortunately, to the tune of about eighty thousand dollars. It was just so easy, and nobody noticed. Not until my dad died and I had to go back to England unexpectedly,” Phil swallows hard, “I hadn’t taken a single vacation day in the last four years I worked there. I was the youngest person; I was the richest one on payroll. Nobody questioned it.” 

“So what happened when you went to England?”

“Someone had to do my job for a week, and they noticed,” Phil laughs, cold and humourless. “They sent in auditors and I got fired, and arrested. Spent two years in prison up in Manchester. I’m lucky they only discovered a loss of about 50 thousand.”

“I saw-“ Dan thinks better of what he is about to say, “what happened next?”

“In prison, I figured out that drugs were the currency. So I became a prison accountant and dealt drugs; I learned a lot. When I got out on parole I got into the outside drug business to pay back the stolen money and I swore I’d get out but…” Phil trails off.

“Do you, you know, do drugs?” Dan asks.

“No,” Phil responds too quickly, “Not often.”

“I’ve never even smoked pot,” Dan laughs, “and then suddenly I’m being slammed into my lounge floor in the middle of the night.”

Phil looks over with what is probably the saddest face Dan’s ever seen, even with a bit of sauce on his lip.

“I’m sincerely sorry about that,” 

“It’s fine, really-“

“No. Marcel is a son of a bitch and he deserved to have the shite scared out of him- you were innocent.”

“What did he do?” Dan deflects.

“He, uh, borrowed money,” Phil looks away quickly.

“You’re loaded, why do you care?” 

“He did other stuff too, not just money,” Phil shakes his head, “can we not talk about this?”

“Yeah, sure, sorry,” Dan stands, taking his plate to the sink, “can I go home now?”

“Dan, I- I’m sorry, I don’t know why I didn’t just take you home last night. I don’t know why I told you any of this, honestly,” Phil puts his head in his hands.

“No, dude, it’s fine. I just have work tomorrow and I’d like to shower at some point,” Dan says this instantly regrets saying shower. Suddenly the image of Phil’s naked backside is flashing into his mind and he almost drops the plate in the sink.

“Okay,” Phil nods, “I’ll take you home, then. Thanks for breakfast.”

“Alright,” Dan says before frowning.

The realization that he may never see Phil again sets in and there is an uncomfortable weight on his chest at the thought. Their eyes meet and Dan wonders if Phil is thinking the same thing; it’s as if they can read each others’ minds. 

“Maybe one day we’ll meet again,” Dan laughs softly, dispelling the quiet tension.

“No,” Phil says firmly, pushing his chair back and standing, “We won’t.”

“Was I that horrible of a houseguest?” Dan snaps, letting Phil take his irritation as something it is not. 

“No, I just, Dan-“ Phil takes a steadying breath, “I’m not a safe person to be around.” 

“Safe? You’re just a person-“

“I’m not, though, I’m wrapped up in some gross stuff, I’m not a good person. You’re just a kid-“

“Call me a kid one more time-,”

“I would be saying this to anyone!” Phil snaps, “I chose this, somehow, someway, and I can’t let people in. I can’t let anyone else get hurt by this.”

“You’re being melodramatic because you don’t want to have friends, is it?” Dan rolls his eyes and walks towards the couch he threw his jumper on yesterday and tugs it over his head. 

“You don’t understand, and you can’t,” Phil whispers, “did you get everything from your bedroom?” 

The way the words “your bedroom” flow off Phil’s tongue make Dan feel some sort of way and he pauses as he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Yeah.”

“Alright then, let’s go,” Phil tugs the same bag from yesterday over his shoulders.

“Is that the bag that casually has illegal substances in it?” Dan frowns.

“No, I delivered those to my fers this morning,” Phil’s eyes flicker to the ceiling. 

“You left?” 

“Yeah, around eight thirty. We meet right down the road so it only took me half an hour,” Phil almost laughs, “you were out cold.”

A stab of fear enters Dan’s chest as he wonders briefly if Phil drugged him, but when he looks over at Phil and sees his eyes are still blue he dismisses the idea. 

“I could have stolen your shit,” Dan cocks an eyebrow.

“My flat is armed both ways, and if anyone tries to get in or out my phone alerts me.” Phil mirrors the look, crossing his arms.

“I could have at least eaten all your food,” 

“You still had the option when I was showering,” Phil glances back at the sink, “and you chose to make me breakfast.” 

Dan laughs aloud, shaking his head; deflecting. “Okay, okay, fair.”

They leave the flat the same way they entered at four am: through the parking garage and without seeing another person. It’s already dark at a little past four-thirty and Dan feels safer tucked against Phil on the motorcycle, his hands wrapped around Phil’s chest.

Phil put his backpack in the storage compartment on the back of the bike so this time there is no barrier between him and Phil. Phil is so warm and now smells like coconut shampoo and coffee. When they’re at a stoplight, Phil leans back curiously close to Dan’s face and says,

“Are you cold?” 

Dan gives his head a shake and then laughs once for good measure, ignoring the chills over his arms and neck.

“Good!” Is all Phil replies before they’re off again and any resemblance of conversation is lost in the noise.

They reach Dan’s apartment building in about thirty minutes, which Dan is sure would be impossible in any other vehicle with any other driver. When the engine is cut and they’re both sat on the bike in silence for a beat longer than comfortable, Dan lets go of Phil’s waist.

“Thanks for the ride,” Dan steps off.

“Careful for the muffler- you’ll burn yourself,” Phil says with a small frown.

“I’m okay,”

“I’ll get your lamp back to you, I promise. It’s probably Racco, he loves cool stuff,” Phil laughs fondly.

“I left the money by the salt lamp in the guest room,” Dan says quickly, before Phil can protest.

“Dan!” Phil gets off the bike in one second flat, the motion a lot more fluid and graceful than Dan’s attempt a moment prior. 

“I didn’t want it-“

“I told you, I told you, you didn’t get it,” Phil shakes his head, genuinely irritated. 

“I get it, you didn’t want me calling the cops-“

“Like the cops would have been able to trace anything my men are good-“

“Good enough to get the wrong flat number!” Dan shouts. He quickly recoils and checks around for people, but the street is empty.

“Why,” Phil closes his eyes, “would you just not accept my repayment?”

“Didn’t need it, didn’t want it. I wanted an apology and you gave that to me, I don’t want charity.” 

“I don’t like to owe anything to anyone, and you couldn’t have just kept the money and told your best friend about what happened? You had to seek me out, didn’t you?” Phil throws his hands in the air and laughs somewhat hysterically. 

“I just wanted my lamp back, Phil.” Dan says darkly.

Phil shifts, like he’d forgotten that part, “You’ll get it back, and then you’ll never mess with anything like me again, right?” 

“Why do you feel the need to treat me like a child, like you’re suddenly responsible for some stranger’s life?” Dan wants to storm off, or scream. 

Phil looks like he’s been punched in the throat. “Don’t worry about it. Bye, Dan.” Phil gets back on to his motorbike and revs the engine, sliding on his glasses.

“Phil, I didn’t-“ Dan tries feebly but Phil’s already driving away.

Dan thinks briefly that he will never see Phil again and the slight feeling of sadness from earlier tugs harder and deeper and he suddenly feels as if he’s going to be sick. Phil's words settle into his collar bones and he can't get Phil's face out of his head.

"...you couldn't have just kept the money and told your best friend what happened?" Phil's voice echoes as he walks up the stairs. 

Best friend, what's that? What are any friends, really? 

He forces himself to remember that this life is his, this apartment is his, he is safe here mostly, and he'll be getting his lamp back. With shaking hands he locks his front door.

He goes inside to an untidy flat and strips off his two-day old clothes and steps into a shower that is too hot to be good for his skin. And then he stands there, endlessly, until the water runs cold and his fingers are prunes. Then he brushes his teeth' he tries to brush the taste of breakfast out of his mouth and the memory of Phil Lester out of his mind.


	4. Overflow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And now it’s in you, secrecy.  
> Ancient and vicious, luscious  
> as dark velvet.  
> It blooms in you  
> a poppy made of ink."
> 
> \- Margaret Atwood

Pitch-black hair occupies most of Tuesday night’s dream. The entire ordeal is hazy and vague, gripping at the edges of Dan’s mind before slipping off into the abyss. It’s Phil, Dan knows this, it has been Phil since the last time he saw him over a week ago.

It’s exhausting. One day at the first acceptable hour to be considered morning Dan finds himself nestled in the sofa crease with a cup of tepid tea. The apartment is freezing and he can’t seem to get warm; his mind is the inner wall of a category five hurricane and he can’t handle this- not right now.

He reminds himself that it is always darkest before the dawn, but it’s not normally this dark, right? It’s pitch black outside and he’s certain the sun should have risen hours ago. Of course this is life’s fashion- tormenting the tormented. 

He sips his tea and focuses on catching the sun making the first move of her ascent into the sky. He falls asleep before he can, and then there is that stupid, giant white flat and those infuriating blue eyes. 

Even when he’s not asleep, the image of the older man with the bright blue eyes and lopsided smile invades his thoughts. He still hasn’t gotten his lamp back, and the idea that he might catch one of Phil’s minions or Phil himself returning it keeps Dan awake and anxious.

The thought crawls over his skin even now, when he should be working, and wraps itself around his throat. Dan wishes he could stay home in case something were to happen. Dan wishes he could scrub his mind of this nonsense and go back to whatever version of a peaceful life he was living before he met Phil.

“Excuse me,” An older woman with short white hair pokes Dan in the arm, “where are the hoes?” 

Dan, rubbing his arm to prove a point, almost laughs, “Uh, in gardening. Isle fourteen.”

“Well?” She puts her hands on her hips.

“What?” He squints, tugging at the hem of his dingy red work shirt.

“Aren’t you going to walk me over? I’m an old woman!” 

Dan doesn’t bother to give a friendly smile, “I’m actually on break.” 

“Then why are you standing in the open!” The woman isn’t going away.

Dan sighs, “Does it look like this shop has a back room? I assumed leaning against the counter on my phone was sign enough.”

“That’s what all you slackers look like, it was hard to tell. I’m taking my business elsewhere!” She yells, and immediately heads for the front doors.

“Oh, ma’am, excuse me, is everything okay?” Derek jumps out of the goddamn framework of the shop.

“Fuck,” Dan whispers, putting his forehead in his hand.

Derek is the general manager who takes his job way too seriously. Dan listens to the spiel Derek gives, how he offers to go get the exact backhoe she needs for her and oh look at that, a 15% discount. Blah, blah, blah- she was still a bitch.

And when she is checked out and gone, Dan can practically feel Derek approaching before he turns around.

“Daniel.” Derek says very calmly.

“Dan. Just Dan,” Dan corrects, avoiding eye contact.

“Everything okay? Does someone need a refresher on how to deal with customers?” 

“I’m on my fucking break-“

“Workplace language!” Derek snaps.

“I’m not even clocked in. Pretend like I’m a customer.” Dan finally looks up from his phone.

“What’s up with you the past week? You used to pretend to care and now it’s like you’ve just dropped off,” Derek’s voice gets lower and Dan feels uncomfortable.

“Nothing… just… nothing,” Dan shrugs.

“Did you meet a girl?” Derek smiles softly.

“No!” Dan says too quickly.

“Well,” Derek’s eyebrows raise and he smiles, “I hope she feels the same about you. Don’t let it affect your work ethic!” 

“Yeah, that’s it,” Dan shoves his phone in his pocket, “I quit.”

“What?” Derek frowns, “You quit?”

“Yeah,” Dan nods, “you’re right. I don’t care anymore.”

“So this is your two weeks notice?”

“This is my two minute notice, Derek,” Dan almost laughs. He takes off his tool apron he’s forced to wear and sets it on the check out counter behind him. “I’ll be back on Friday for my last check.”

And then he leaves.

During the walk home he is stoic, but when he enters his flat he lies down on the sofa and fights the tight feeling in his chest. Now, he’s not in university and he doesn’t have a job. The word useless knocks around in his brain and he digs his fingers into the sofa.

The very last thing he wants to do is call his parents and ask for help. They treated him like shit before he dropped out of school; he doesn’t want to know what they’d say to him calling for money. Wait, he does: No.

He should have kept the money from Phil.

“Fuck,” Dan murmurs aloud, because why does everything come back to Phil?

Maybe Phil would leave the money with the lamp, because he’s stubborn. And then Dan could pay rent for the next four months, who needs food? Phil survives barely eating- 

“FUCK!” Dan screams this time, because he thought of Phil again.

It’s nearly ten thirty by the time Dan drags himself off the couch and into the kitchen. He makes a simple tofu broccoli stir-fry and when he finally deems it acceptable he flicks off the stovetop. 

His peaceful food making is interrupted by a loud buzz from his doorbell. He pauses abruptly and for just a moment he holds still; his eyes worryingly flicker to the door and then he’s slowly approaching.

“Hello?” Dan cracks the door, peering out.

Oh.

It’s that same mop of black hair atop six feet of pale skin with artificially brown eyes. The sight of Phil might as well have been the postman delivering a ton of bricks over his head because Dan can’t seem to form a coherent sentence.

Thankfully, however, apparently neither can Phil.

“Dan!” Phil’s face lights up in a childish manner.

“Phil,” Dan hesitates, “what are you doing here?”

“It’s my birthday!” Phil keeps grinning, “Can I come in?”

“O-okay,” Dan shrugs, pulling open the door.

Phil enters the flat like a kid on Christmas and bounds up the stairs to the main level. There’s something odd about Phil’s movements; his pupils are dilated and Dan briefly wonders if he’s on something. The behaviour is reminiscent of the friends he hung out with in high school.

“Hey, Phil, why don’t you take a seat? In the lounge. I’ll put the kettle on,” Dan encourages, watching Phil explore his tiny flat.

“It’s a cool place you’ve got, kind of small,” Phil ignores the sitting suggestion, peeking into the kitchen instead.

“Are you high?” Dan asks, forcing his voice to be steady. It’s strange, seeing Phil again when he’s been the star of Dan’s mind show for a week straight. Dan thought he might be more taken aback, or at least starstuck, but right now he’s a little worried and more so confused.

“No,” Phil frowns, “I’m not.”

“Okay, sure,” Dan presses his lips together.

“I was hungry, and I didn’t have food. You!” Phil waves his hands excitedly at Dan, who is standing dumbstruck in his kitchen.

“How’d you get here?” Dan squints, walking past Phil with two mugs in his hands, motioning with his head for Phil to follow. 

“My brother dropped me off,” Phil frowns, “he’s ferrying for me today.”

“I’m confused.”

“I’m always confused,” Phil laughs sharply, his eyes darting around the room before settling on the sofa, “welcome to the club.” 

“What’s ferrying?” Dan sits back on the sofa and Phil joins him.

“Transporting to front line dealers,” Phil shrugs.

“So why can’t the front line dealers pick it up from the initial exchange point?”

“It’s complicated. Technically,” Phil trails off for a second, his fingers tapping on his full mug.

“Technically,” he resumes after a spell of silence, like he’s been suddenly revived, “I could do everything. I’m the branch manager of the London drug scene.” 

Dan laughs at this, motioning for Phil to continue, “So why don’t you?”

“I’m mostly an organizer. I organize where the stuff comes from, who grows it, who cooks it. I organize who picks it up from its origin, and then I pick it up at the exchange. Louise is my right hand man, and then I double check with my ferriers to make sure they’ve contacted their specific dealers.” Phil knows the process like the back of his hand; Dan finds himself subconsciously leaning towards him.

“That’s complicated,”

“It’s a business. I’m the supply chain manager.” Phil’s eyes are fluttering shut as he leans back against the sofa, his hands still holding the untouched tea.

Dan stands up and Phil’s eyes flicker open.

“Where are you going?”

“I made stir-fry, I was getting it for us,” Dan says softly.

There is a beat of silence before Phil smiles and closes his eyes again. 

For being hungry, Phil barely eats. 

He picks out the snow peas and eats them in nibbles, the tea abandoned on the coffee table.

“This is good.” Phil says after a quarter of the plate is gone and Phil starts to act more like a normal human being. 

They eat in silence, but a silence that feels more like a warm blanket. Dan stares at Phil- he can’t help it. The room is soft and quiet and it has been so long since Dan has had any guests over. 

“Why did you think of me?” Dan almost whispers, “It’s your birthday, and your brother dropped you off here.”

“It is, yeah,” Phil frowns, “you cook well.”

“It’s not that-“ Dan averts his eyes, “You could have gotten food elsewhere, and you chose to be alone with me.”

“It’s just been a long time since I’ve had a normal conversation with a normal person,” Phil laughs, “I’m sorry.”

“I’m normal?” Dan smiles.

“Yeah,” Phil pauses, “I wish we could be friends.”

“And we can’t, why?” 

“You don’t understand,” Phil snaps suddenly, “I didn’t choose this life. It’s a product of bad decisions. You’re young, you work- are you in school?”  
   
“No, I dropped out last year,”

“Still. You can be anything you want. I have a felony and a year of prison and sure, I have money, but not much else,” Phil sighs.

“I quit my job today, actually,” Dan corrects, tugging at his shirt.

“Why?” Phil cocks his head.

“I don’t care about it anymore.”

“Fair enough,” Phil draws, his fingers tapping on his leg.

“So you’re an ex-con glorified drug dealer and I’m an unemployed uni drop out with twelve pounds to my name.” Dan laughs hard, “We are winning at life.”

Phil is laughing now as well, pushing both of their plates to the coffee table. “Maybe this is better than being trapped in a desk job.”

“Maybe so,” Dan looks up from his lap to see Phil staring at him.

They stare at each other for a moment and then Phil is standing and shoving his hands in his pockets. 

“I suppose I should get going,” Phil presses his lips into a thin line.

“Wait-“ Dan stands, “you’re leaving?”

“Yeah?” Phil tugs on the coat Dan didn’t notice he was wearing when he first arrived.

“So that’s that, then,” Dan crosses his arms and leans against the entryway to his flat, “you just come and go. No lamp.”

“Fuck, your lamp,” Phil groans, “J told me he’d get it back to you.”

“Can I at least get your number?” Dan braves, “Just in case I have to inquire about it again.”

“Do me a favour and just,” Phil’s eyebrows draw together and he looks at the floor like he really doesn’t want to continue speaking, “pretend like you never met me. I have an agenda that shouldn’t involve you. It was stupid of me to show up here anyway.”

“Jesus,” Dan rolls his eyes, “you’re so caught up in this complex. Either you want a fucking friend or you don’t- stop butting into my life if you’re just going to bellyache about how I shouldn’t be a part of it. Are you Edward Cullen or something?” 

“I don’t sparkle.”

Dan grabs a pen off the shelf and jots his number down on a post-it note. “Here. Call me if you change your mind.”

“Change my mind about what?” Phil cocks his head, eyes glistening. 

“Anything,” Dan affirms, “Happy birthday.”

And then he promptly shuts the door in Phil’s face.


	5. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I want to be untouchable and beautiful and completely dead inside."- Francesca Lia Block

Ultimately, London, thick with smog but blissfully void of humidity, has been good to Dan. His flat, while untidy most days, has kept him warm. The weather, while dreary more often than not, has kept his hair from curling after a rigorous bout with the straightener each and every morning.

In the unseasonal warm patch that mid-February has to offer, however, London provides no comfort to the idle hands of Dan Howell.

“Devil’s playthings,” his landlord Elliot draws as he leans against the doorway of Dan’s flat.

“I know, I know,” Dan sighs, rubbing at his neck, “I’m finding a new job, I swear.”

“I’ll give you a grace period of two months before your arse is on the street, Howell. Because I like you- you’re quiet.” Elliot, a soft-spoken ginger haired man of about thirty-five, has been renting out the four apartments in this building for the past ten years. He barely accepted Dan’s credentials two years ago.

“I can’t thank you enough-“

“Yes you can, stop talking,” Elliot cuts him off, “two months. And then I expect at least one month’s rent in full. And if your utilities go out that’s not on me.”

“Thanks again, I-“ Dan begins, but the door is being shut in his face before he can continue.

All in all, it went about as well as Dan hoped that conversation would go. 

It had been two weeks since Dan quit his job at the DIY store and since then he had yet to find a job. Not that he had really been trying, truthfully.

When he was sixteen, his mum had forced him to go to the doctor to figure out why he had barely been eating and sleeping way too often- Dan had just assumed his mum had no idea how teenagers were supposed to function.

Turns out: depression.

He’d taken medication that had made him a shell of a person, and then he’d dropped out of uni and simultaneously dropped any extra expenses- including those sweet mind-numbing pills. 

So it just became a part of him. Sometimes its ugly, gnarled hands grabbed at his wrists and held him on his bed for days at a time- sometimes it kept him drunk on the kitchen floor. Sometimes it made him spend two hours in the shower preparing for a five-minute conversation with his landlord.

A sharp knock at his door causes him to jump and then roll his eyes. Elliot’s back to retract whatever two minutes of kindness he felt in his heart earlier. However, when Dan swings open the door with a mind set to argue, he’s met only with a cardboard box with no label. He ducks inside with the package and opens the non-taped flaps. He is happily surprised to see his amber lamp safe and sound. 

Something snaps in him after a second and he’s crashing back through the door and running down the stairs of his building.

“Wait!” Dan’s yelling, bursting through the front door of the building with wild eyes. He searches right and left and sees nobody. He runs to his left and peeks down the alley, barely catching the tail end of someone. 

“Wait, Nico, J, wait!” Dan spits out the two names he’d remembered Phil dropping. He runs faster and follows the person, only to hear a motorbike start up. 

“Phil!” He shouts at the top of his lungs, rounding a second corner only to see a woman on the same black-with-flames bike. “Not Phil.”

“Ah, Dan,” She turns the bike off, to Dan’s surprise, and pulls off her helmet. 

“Um,” Dan stutters, “sorry. Thought you were Phil.”

“Not a chance, love, I’m Louise. He’s told me about you since I saw you a few weeks ago,” Louise steps off the bike, running a hand through her long, blonde hair.

“Oh, you were the one out to kill me,” Dan laughs, but the sound catches in his throat.

“In this profession, who you don’t kill, will kill you,” she explains, “I am sorry though, you were just on a mission to get your… bug lamp back.”

“I got it abroad-”

“No judgment. I have a finger bone I got in Brooklyn,” She laughs, “The question begs, however, why were you chasing me if you thought I was him?”

“I-“ Dan can’t answer the question for himself, but he quickly finds a manufactured truth, “I need to ask for the money he gave me back.”

“Oh, that’s risky,” Louise frowns, “you refuse compensation and then you plan on asking for it back? He could kill you, you know.”

“He seems a lot less harmful than what others seem to think, just saying-“ Dan shrugs, slight irritation coursing through his veins. 

“Oh, you sweet child,”

The irritation turns to anger, hot and quick to boil in Dan’s blood.

“Sweet, sweet, summer child,” Louise laughs loud and boisterously, “don’t you see?”

“See what?” Dan insists, suddenly wishing he’d bothering slipping on shoes before chasing after her. The cold of the pavement is seeping into his socked feet. “I mean sure, being in his debts doesn’t sound fun, after what he had out for Marcel, or whatever that guy’s name was.”

“Marcel wasn’t in his monetary debt-“ 

“You know what he did?”

“Of course,” Louise frowns, “I know everything Phil knows. Which is how I know he wants you. Or more, doesn’t want to want you.”

“W- what?” Dan pauses, briefly stilling. 

“Marcel outed Phil to his subordinates. All of them- the fers, the distributers, the suppliers. He lost a good fourth of his business,” Louise’s eyes cloud with anger and Dan knows instantly that she would probably die for Phil.

“So-“ Dan can’t hide his confusion, “Phil’s gay?”

“Queer as a three dollar bill,” Louise raises her eyebrows.

“So why are you telling me this?” Dan shakes his head.

There’s a pause as Louise frowns and glances around the alleyway. They are sheltered from the wind here and without it the weather is verging on warm. Somewhere in the back of Dan’s mind he is reminded that he left his flat unlocked.

“Listen, Dan,” Louise’s voice drops as she takes a step closer, “he’s my friend, right? I care about him. But I also know him.”

There’s a pause and she seems genuinely distressed, “if you need money, sleep with him.” 

Dan’s face contracts and he gapes, allowing her the silence to continue.

“If you need the money, that’s one way to get it. Phil’s not afraid to rip anyone apart but he’s soft at heart. Seduce him and then stay as far away from him as possible.” She finishes with a note of finality, the speech concluding far from where Dan expected.

“So I should manipulate him,” Dan says slowly, ignoring the way the idea of sleeping with Phil makes his stomach turn in knots. 

“Listen, don’t hear words I’m not saying,” Louise frowns, “he’s been bitchy lately, he needs a good fuck. You’re clean and you obviously need the money. Win, win.”

“Okay,” Dan takes a breath, “if I hypothetically decide to take you up on this- how do I even find him?” 

“I’m going to put a number in your phone,” She holds out a hand and Dan willingly obliges, absently forking over his phone into her upturned palm. “This is Simon. He’s a fer- a ferrier- who masquerades as an Uber driver. Send him a text with your address and tell him you need to be taken to Ripto when you’re ready.”

“So I’ll just show up, unannounced?” Dan crosses his arms as he accepts his phone back.

“Of course not. Phil has Simon’s car rigged, he knows when it is en route,” Louise begins to pull her helmet back on, “I don’t expect for you to remain in touch with Phil after this- I hope you don’t, actually- but if you do… you’ll find that Phil can read you better than you can read yourself. So be cautious.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean? I don’t-“

“Bye, Dan. Don’t make me regret telling you this,” Louise tucks her long hair under the helmet and slides down the windshield before flinging a leg over the side of the bike. Before Dan can get another word out the motor is roaring to life and Louise is speeding away into the fading sunset. 

Dan, freezing in his thin socks, makes his way back to his flat and climbs the stairs in silence. Realistically, he isn’t going to find another job. He’d just shot his reference with the DIY store and he lacked any other credentials. 

Even if he managed to find a job, he’d need enough money to pay rent for a single flat in London. Maybe he could get a roommate.

Maybe he could fuck Phil, the voice in his head reminds him. 

Dan swallows hard and enters his flat, locking the door behind him. He buries the thought in the back of his mind and puts his lamp back out on the side table in the lounge, letting the familiar orange glow calm him. 

Elliot is giving him two months- technically a month and a half, considering it is already the eighth of February and the extension is only good until April first. What a joke- no pun intended.  
Even if it only takes him two weeks to find a job, it’d be middle of March before he gets his first paycheck, and that probably won’t even cover one month’s rent- fuck. He needs money. 

“Fuck,” Dan mumbles into the arm of his couch. Maybe he wouldn’t have to sleep with Phil- he could just cook a few meals for him. Put some meat on those bones. Dan lets himself think about Phil’s arms, the way they were small but semi-muscular. 

Tight jeans on thin legs, widening at his thighs to account for Shakira hips. Dan’s overactive imagination assaults him and his eyes slip shut; he imagines Phil taking off his shirt and shimmying his trousers down to-

Dan coughs loudly to force himself out of the daydream. He hadn’t realized Phil was gay, but it kind of makes sense now. He’d danced around the question of why he had been after Marcel- yet he’d made it clear it wasn’t a money issue. Dan had figured it had to have been a personal issue, and this was about as personal as it gets. 

Dan has never attempted sexual favours for men- or really anyone, come to think of it. And sleeping with a near stranger for money, even indirectly… doesn’t really settle right in Dan’s gut. But, he resigns, frowning into the throw pillow, what choice does he have?

He’d go tomorrow. Take a hefty shower, slather some peppermint oil on his thighs- bring some lube. He could do this- even if it took a little acting. Phil was good enough company, and he’d practically had his actions blessed by Phil’s number two.

It’d be a piece of cake.

Dan makes himself breakfast the next morning- two slices of the cheapest white bread from Tesco in his toaster for a minute and a half. He mourns the stuffed French toast he saw Delia smith whipping together yesterday on the TV. 

He thinks about how rich he could be tonight and he feels more uncomfortable than excited. Maybe he could make Phil dinner first, as a thank you.

He scoffs to himself around a mouthful of toast. Ha. A thank you, for what? Being a quick lay to convince Phil to give him money? Manipulating someone who pretty much saved his life and returned his favorite possession? 

The worst bit is that Dan is looking forward to seeing Phil again. There’s a low simmer of excitement about hanging out with him- they’d had a lot in common after all. Dan bangs his head dramatically against the table and groans.

“Why is this my life?” He groans loudly with his cheek on the counter.

“Because you suck!” His neighbour shouts through the thin walls.

“Fuck you!” Dan yells back, throwing the knife he got out (to spread jam he didn’t have) at the wall.

“You wish!” The man, Trevor, Dan recalls, shouts before slamming some door hard. 

“I hate this place,” Dan mumbles. He doesn’t allow himself to dwell on the realization that he’s settled for everything in his life, lest he become more depressed.


	6. Emissary pt.1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I remember wishing I could be boiled like water  
> and made pure again."- Jeffrey McDanie

Around four that evening, he texts the number Louise put in his phone.

/Hi/ he begins, /Could I please have a ride to Ripto’s place?/

/Who the fuck is u/ is the instant reply. Dan frowns.

/I’m Dan. Louise told me you could give me a ride./

/address?/

Dan gives a satisfied raise of his eyebrows and texts his address, receiving no reply. He gathers his backpack with a change of clothes, a half bottle of lube, a toothbrush, and his keys and wallet and goes to wait on the stairwell. 

Forty-five minutes later and he’s still perched on the staircase, heavily anticipating Simon to arrive. He’s beginning to doubt if he ever will when his phone dings with a single text.

/here/

Dan smiles and tucks his thumbs under the straps of his bag as he exits the building. Immediately he sees a beat up sedan with what appears to be bullet holes in the chassis. Great, he thinks to himself.

“Good afternoon,” Dan nods as he slides into the backseat. 

A rough looking man with long dark hair is in the driver’s seat smoking a cigarette. 

“Does the boss know youse comin’?” He slurs in a thick American accent. Seriously, where are all these Americans coming from?

He about smacks himself in the head- America. Right.

“Not really,” Dan frowns, “but he knows it’s a possibility.”

“It’s your life, bucko,” Simon takes another drag and Dan’s nose cringes up, “I’m just the delivery boy.”

“So that’s what you are to Ripto?” Dan leans forward, fascination taking over his sense of self-preservation. 

“No, I’m literally the delivery boy. Did you see the light up pizza sign on top of my car, kid?” They swerve in front of another car and Dan digs his nails into the leather seat, stained with time and god knows what else.

“I thought you were an Uber driver,” Dan laughs.

“I transport a lot of things, okay? People, pizza, cocaine- I’m a man of many talents,” Simon gives a hearty laugh without looking back at Dan, “you’re braver than most of the boss’ booty calls.”

“The trick is not caring whether I live or die-“ Dan shrugs, “Wait- how did you know- not saying I’m one, but-“

“You smell like a goddamn candy cane. Nothing reveals a queer like essential oils.” Simon drops his cigarette out the window on a particularly rough turn and he curses hard.

“No offense,” Dan leans forward, peeking over the center console, “Isn’t that, in itself, a pretty queer thing to say?”

“You got me there,” Simon shrugs, already shoving another cig into his mouth. 

The ride is quick and painless; Dan even manages to get Simon to stop at a grocery to pick up some chicken and capers for dinner in anticipation of Phil’s flat being void of food. Despite the journey being smooth, Dan feels the apprehension leap back into his chest when Simon drops him off and speeds away without so much as a backwards glance.

“Thanks for the ride,” he mumbles to nobody. He sets his resolve and braves the front door to the fancy building he recalls from a month prior. 

“Welcome to Lester Heights-“ The dark skinned receptionist greets him with upturned eyebrows at his galaxy backpack and worn black trainers, “What can we help you with?”

“I’m a guest for-“ Dan hesitates, thinking better of mentioning Phil, “a resident.”

“Do you have the key code access for the floor?” She kind of looks like she breaks hearts for a living and Dan feels like the IBS he probably doesn’t have is acting up. 

“Y-yes. Yes I do,” Dan says in a way that sounds unconvincing even to himself.  
She frowns but unlocks the door to the elevator lobby with a quick press of a button anyway. He nods in appreciation and hurries through, pressing the button for the lift and hoping desperately that it arrives soon.

Finally the fancy doors open and he steps into a completely mirrored lift with dozens of floor choices. He quickly taps the top floor and waits with his heart in his throat.

When the doors ding open again, Dan’s left staring at the keypad entry to Phil’s flat blankly. He knocks- once feebly, and then twice with more conviction. There is no response before the lift doors begin to shut again.

“Wait, wait- doors,” Dan shoves his arm in the way and frowns. “Phil!” he tries. 

Eventually, the doors force themselves closed and Dan is being transported back to the ground floor. He panics and presses himself against the wall with the doors so he won’t be seen when they open. The mirrors betray him.

Unfortunately, he is joined by two old women on floor eleven on his way down. 

“Hello,” Dan grins awkwardly, “would you believe me if I said I was the lift attendant?” 

They look at him and then look at one another with contemplating frowns but raised eyebrows. They shrug and both nod once, and then turn back to Dan and nod again.

“Do you have mints?” One asks, holding out a gloved hand.

“I have,” Dan digs into his pocket, nervously glancing up at the numbers as they approach ground floor, “A packet of malteasers.”

The lady looks back at the other woman and shrugs again, before turning back to take the packet. 

“Thank you,” She gingerly places the packet into her expensive handbag. “Have a nice day.”

Dan pretends to hold the lift doors open as they exit and then he jabs at 15 as many times as he can, praying the doors will close. They do, and then Dan is preparing. 

He makes sure his backpack is tightly on his shoulders and then stands directly in front of the door. As soon as the lift doors open, he’s going to knock on Phil’s door as hard as he can. If Phil doesn’t answer, he’s going to try and shove himself onto the tiny ledge of space. 

When the lift dings at floor 15, it’s go time. The doors open and Dan immediately goes to bang on the locked door, only to stumble forward into the apartment and fall flat on his face. He barely registers the person holding the door open as his face goes to third base with the tile floor. 

The door is shut behind him as he rolls onto his back to look up at Phil from the floor. 

Phil looks confused, but not malcontent. 

“Hi,” Dan provides as he sits up and then gets to his feet. He shrugs off his backpack and leans it against a pillar in the corridor. 

“Hi,” Phil crosses his arms. He’s dressed semi-nicely, with dark jeans and a short-sleeved teal button down.

“What’s up?” Dan says nonchalantly.

Phil looks at him like he is mental.

“What’s up?” Phil cocks his head, “Pardon my misunderstanding, but aren’t you the one who just crash landed in my flat?”

“Yep, like when Prompto makes Ignis crash the Regalia in-“

“Final Fantasy,” Phil interrupts, a smile playing on his lips. His crossed arms fall apart.

“We’re utter nerds,” Dan grins.

“Dan, why are you here?”

“So what, you get to show up at my flat unannounced and I don’t get the same privilege?” Dan pretends to pout as he follows Phil into the lounge.

“I told you, I needed food,” Phil groans, sitting down on the couch. He leans his head back and rubs at his temples.

“See, I have better reasoning. I simply desire companionship.” 

“I’m hardly a companion-“

“And I brought dinner ingredients-“

“Okay you can stay,” Phil lets out a laugh, opening his eyes. 

“Did you know I was coming?” Dan’s voice drops a little, wondering just how much Louise told Phil.

“Louise told me to expect Simon with a visitor at some point, but I didn’t realize it was you. I’m guessing you two had a little rendezvous when she delivered the lamp?”

“Yeah, I might have chased her down. She said you could,” Dan pauses, “use some company.”

“Dreadfully embarrassing,” Phil rolls his eyes, “she worries about me.”

Dan frowns briefly, his eyes flickering towards the floor with guilt. “Must be nice, having someone worry about you.”

“It’s not too bad,” Phil smiles fondly, “she’s really the only family I have.”

“What about your brother?” Dan squints.

Phil freezes, and Dan notices. Blue eyes flicker to the left and there’s a heavy pause before he begins to speak, saying quickly- “He’s more of an employee. We’re not close.”

“I’m not close with any of my family,” Dan shrugs against the couch as he focuses his eyes on the vaulted ceilings. 

“See,” Phil tucks an arm beneath his head on the adjacent sofa, “you’ve got to trick yourself out of caring.”

“How does one do that?” 

“Once you escape from your life, which you’ve done, you just have to make like a drunk girl getting out of a cab. You have to leave everything behind,” Phil laughs softly and Dan’s caught off guard by the sound.

“Everything?” Dan whispers.

“Everything.” Phil affirms.

“Then what?” 

“Then, you do whatever you want,” Phil finally looks over at Dan, “but right now that should definitely be making me dinner.” 

“Yeah, I’m starved,” Dan agrees, pulling himself off the sofa. He makes his way to the kitchen, grabbing his book bag on the way. 

He pulls out the capers and the chicken Simon, ever so kindly, made a pit stop for and begins digging through the cupboards. 

“What are you looking for?” Phil asks from the breakfast bar. 

Dan starts; unaware Phil had followed him in. 

“Flour, butter, parsley, salt, pepper,” Dan runs out of fingers to count off and drops his hands altogether, squinting. 

“I think I have all of those- look in the left cabinet,” Phil helpfully supplies. 

“What about chicken stock? Lemon? Any vegetables?” Dan asks when he’s gathered the rest.

“I have lemon juice in a plastic lemon in the fridge…” Phil trails off, “I don’t know about the rest.”

“That will have to do. I can use a splash of pickle juice and make my own stock,” Dan shrugs, pulling more things out of the fridge.

“I could hire you to be my chef,” Phil jokes, prompting a displeased look from Dan. 

“You couldn’t afford me,” Dan smirks. 

“Yeah, just like I can’t afford this building,” 

Dan exaggerates a mock gasp and says, “Phil Lester, are you showing off your giant illegal money supply? I noticed this place is called Lester Heights, nothing gets past me.” 

“Hey!” Phil giggles, honest to god, giggles, “sure. Nothing at all, just like the fact you put the flour back in the fridge instead of the cupboard two minutes ago.” 

“Fuck,” Dan laughs at himself, opening the fridge to see the sack on the shelf. 

“What are you making, anyway?” Phil leans on his hands and Dan can’t help but answer with a smile. 

“You’ll see,” Dan singsongs as he dredges the chicken with flour. 

They chat as Dan cooks and when the Chicken Piccata is finally finished Dan puts a piece on each plate and drizzles the sauce over them both. 

“Voila!” Dan grins and places the plates on the breakfast bar in exaggerated fashion. 

“God, this looks fantastic,” Phil practically moans, picking up his fork and knife to dig in. 

“Why do I have a feeling all anyone has to do to win your good graces is cook for you?” Dan teases as he cuts his own chicken. 

“I’m a simple man, Dan,” Phil murmurs around a mouthful.

“I think you’re anything but,” Dan amends before abandoning conversation in favour of calories.


	7. Emissary pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "When a person tells you you hurt them, you don’t get to decide you didn’t." -Louis C.K.

By the time midnight rolls around, they find themselves sitting on the hardwood floor overlooking the city from the glass wall in the lounge. 

“I love this city,” Dan says mostly to himself, nursing the glass of wine that Phil insisted they share from a bottle of 1997 Cabernet. 

“This wine is barely younger than you,“ Phil teases. 

“As if,” Dan scoffs, “I was born in ’94. Ah, shit. I’m so young.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Phil shrugs, “more life to live.”

“Is that such a good thing?” Dan hesitates. 

They’d spent the last two hours comfortably coasting off the momentum of sarcasm and lighthearted teasing, but with the darkness flooding through the apartment and the wine settling in on them both, the atmosphere had shifted.

Dan thinks about his intentions for coming over and feels a bit sick. 

“It’s good,” The corners of Phil’s lips turn upward the smallest amount as he affirms, “It’s good.”

“Are you happy?” Dan wonders absently, his eyes and mind focused on the city below. Brilliant and unaware.

“I don’t know,” Phil shifts, crossing his long legs under himself, “for a long time I tried to repress all the bad stuff in my life and I… sort of ended up repressing everything. Even the good.”

“You repressed the good stuff?” Dan moves his head to look at Phil. 

“It was so hard to tell it from the bad,” Phil laughs humourlessly, “it was easier to pretend like none of it belonged.”

“That doesn’t seem like a good way to live,” Dan muses.

“I did some pretty messed up stuff,”

“Like what?”

“I, uh, hurt some people,” Phil scrubs at his face and looks away from Dan. “I alienated people who were there for me. My brother tried to get me out of this whole scene and I didn’t- I didn’t even try.”

“Did you want to?” Dan braves, feeling an inexplicable desire to move closer to Phil. 

“I did, I do- I just,” Phil pauses to take a long sip of wine, “When I broke the law I backed myself into a corner. No accounting firm would hire me, my criminal record kept me from going back to school for something else- I was at a loss.” 

Phil’s words simmer in the comfortable silence as they both take them in. Dan wonders how many people in Phil’s life have asked about his past; he wonders if anyone has been brave enough. 

“If you’re happy doing this, then you should continue,” Dan nods, pressing his lips in a firm line. Maybe it’s the wine, or the atmosphere, but he can’t drag his eyes away from Phil’s face. 

“I don’t know if I’m happy. I kind of feel like I just took the worst situation and made it okay. I took a mess and made it home. And I live in this home all by myself,” Phil frowns. 

“That sucks, man,” Dan laughs, unable to help himself. This is all so bizarre. 

“I know,” Phil laughs as well.

Dan holds tipsy eye contact for a moment and then settles his thoughts.

He has three reasonable choices here: he could ask Phil for the money right now and risk Phil saying no, he could ditch asking for money at all and end up homeless, or he could follow through with Louise’s idea and seduce him.

Because apparently all you need is a morning-after-Phil to get rent money. 

Dan feels nervous as he moves closer to Phil on the floor, but the nerves settle low in his stomach and feel more like excitement. Feel more like something he is happy about, rather than dreading. 

But he’s straight. 

He acted in high school; this is just a bit of method acting. That’s why he’s gotten so into it- the wine has obviously made his dick disconnect from his brain and that’s why he’s looking at Phil like Phil looked at the chicken picatta. 

So option three it is. It’d be a piece of cake- the dessert on this suicide mission of fucking over (again, no pun intended) a druglord. Wine swims in his brain and he sets the glass down. When he takes his next breath, 1997 spins around him.

“So, Phil,” Dan begins, now less than a foot away from the other man. 

“Yeah?” Phil turns away from the window for the first time in five minutes and Dan blanches at how pretty he looks in the reflection of the glass. 

“I think,” Dan begins, his chest tight and his palms sweating slightly, “you’re cute.”

Dan realizes that he definitely has no idea how to flirt, much less seduce. This is made evident by Phil breaking into laughter.

“Cute,” Phil gaps between little giggles, “that’s a first.”

“What?” Dan says loudly, defensive, “You are!” 

“Mhm,” Phil rotates to face Dan, “explain.”

“You ran through my house like a little kid, you wear mismatched socks, you enjoy my food-“ Dan’s laughing at this point, 

“Okay-“

“I’m not done,” Dan shh’s, “you got lost trying to take me home. You’re useless when it comes to cooking, you have seven couches yet you sit on the floor, and you have a fancy shower that you use even when your bedroom has an en suite.”

Dan surprises himself, spewing out reason after reason when he had previously worried he would need to bullshit his way through one or two. 

“Wow,” Phil’s smile flickers for a second, as if reading Dan’s mind.

Dan’s hit with the reminder that he just acknowledged that he saw Phil in the shower that first night. For a second he is nervous, and then he remembers that this is kind of exactly where he wants this night to go. 

Not to the shower, but more along the lines of Phil naked and him watching.

“Sorry,” Dan apologizes after a brief spell of silence, “I just thought you should know. You’re cute.”

“You’re cute, too,” Phil mumbles, and even in the low lighting Dan can see the way Phil’s pale skin flushes pink.

Dan moves closer and says, “I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

“What do you mean?” Phil says with knowing eyes. Dan’s next words would make or break this endeavour. 

They’re close enough now where their thighs are touching. Their wine glasses are abandoned on the floor whilst they can’t take their eyes off one another. 

“I mean,” Dan feels his skin burning hot and there is a roaring of blood in his ears. He’s not so sure it’s the wine anymore, “you’re cute.” He ends feebly.

Phil takes this as a chance to lean over and kiss Dan, and Dan kisses back firmly. 

God, Phil tastes good. He smells of cologne your uni accounting professor might wear when you’re fucking him in the supply closet between lessons, but he tastes like wine and warmth. He climbs into Phil’s lap and kisses him more deeply. 

It is now that the stubble on Phil’s face scratches him slightly on the cheek and reminds Dan that he is a boy, a man nonetheless, and he has a penis. 

Dan jolts back, sobering up quickly as he sits back on Phil’s thighs. 

He has to do this; he doesn’t have any other options, he reminds himself. 

His mind still freaks out while Phil searches him with confused eyes. Unfortunately Dan’s dick didn’t get the memo that he is having a gay crisis, because it is still straining against the denim of Dan’s jeans.

“I’ve never done this,” Dan settles for a semi-truth, “with a man, I mean.”

“It’s okay, I’ll guide you,” Phil says deeply and warmly, moving his hands to Dan’s ass. He beckons Dan forward with his eyes and Dan swallows hard and leans in. 

The kissing is better once Phil twists his fingers into Dan’s hair and they start rocking against each other.

“Bedroom?” Phil pants, and what can Dan do but nod and stand?

Phil guides him by the hand down the long hallway and the fancy shower and then through two eight foot tall bi-panel doors.

“So when you saw me in the shower the first night,” Phil says calmly, “was that intentional?”

“No,” Dan says immediately, before flinching, “I mean, not seeing you. Lingering after, maybe.”

“I didn’t mind,” Phil grins, finally entering his bedroom with Dan.

For the first time since entering the mansion, Dan feels like someone actually lives here. In contrast to the stark-white minimalist feel of the rest of the apartment, Phil’s bedroom is very personal. 

Dan drops Phil’s hand to admire the potted plant on his TV stand, and then the fairy lights by the window. “Cute,” he mumbles quickly before returning to Phil, who is standing with an amused expression.

“You’re like a little dog,” Phil grins, taking both sides of Dan’s face into his hands.

Dan barks, and then kisses Phil. Phil grins into the kiss. 

“I know,” Phil pulls away for a second to tug off his shirt, “you said you haven’t done this with a man before. So I figure I should ask how far you want this to go.”

Dan truly does not know. If you had asked him ten hours ago, he might have said Phil’s flat was as far as he wanted to go. Now, wine-drunk and mostly hard in his pants, he wants to fuck something. 

“All the way?” He shrugs.

“Alright,” Phil blinks, surprised, “I’m pretty verse, so?”

“Verse?” 

“Versatile,” Phil explains, “have you done anal with any girls?”

His ex had definitely been into some unorthodox things. He nods.

“You can top, then, if you want, might be easier.” Phil says softly, leaning in for another kiss as he guides them towards the bed.

Damn it, Phil is so kind. He’s so good. Dan feels the guilt from before churning in his stomach. 

They kiss on the bed until Phil’s thumbs are looping through the belt loops of Dan’s jeans and tugging and tugging until Dan is kicking them off. His lips are still attached to Phil’s and he does what he thinks he should, what he would if Phil were a girl, and starts fumbling with the button on Phil’s jeans. 

“Shh,” Phil shushes him warmly, “let’s focus on you first.”

Dan suddenly has fingers being laced into his as Phil leans down to mouth Dan through his boxers, warm and damp. He thinks for a second that this man, this man he’s known in scattered segments for barely a month, is treating him better than any girlfriend or hookup partner he’s ever had. The revelation forces him to clear moral waters.

“P-hil,” Dan manages around a sharp intake of breath, “Phil.”

Phil is so kind. 

Phil is so good.

Dan can’t do this.

“Phil.” Dan says firmly, taking all of his self-control to pull the talented mouth off his erection. 

“What?” Phil notes the tone in Dan’s voice and looks up.

Dan takes a shaky breath and ignores the voice in his mind telling him that he has no other option. 

“Please don’t kill me,” Dan prefaces as he pulls himself together, “I can’t do this to you.”

“I mean, I can top if you want-“ Phil, oblivious, frowns.

“No,” Dan slides off the bed and runs his hands roughly through his hair, “I’m being kicked out of my apartment in two months if I can’t scrounge up fourteen hundred pounds for two month’s rent.”

“Yikes,” Phil frowns harder, apprehension gathering. 

“I’m going to be honest here. I came over with the intention of sleeping with you to get you to give me money, because I didn’t know what else the fuck to do. And then somewhere between dinner and the wine and kissing you-“ Dan’s words falter when he sees the look of hurt and anger wash over Phil’s face, “I realized I care too much about you to hurt you like that.”

“Fuck,” is all Phil says before he gets off the bed and takes his shirt off the floor. 

“Look, I’m sorry. You have every right to be mad-“

“Damn right I do,” Phil growls, pulling the shirt over his head. 

Dan awkwardly tugs on his jeans and stands by the bed as Phil re-dresses.

“I could have gone through with it,” Dan argues, following an angry Phil out of his room and down the hall, “I stopped because you mean something to me-“

Phil spins around with a look on his face that could kill, saying, “Yeah, I mean something now? After you’re drunk on two glasses of wine and you realize that I’m actually a decent human being? You’re a fucking kid and I shouldn’t have trusted you for a second. Get the hell out of my house.”

“It’s one am-“ Dan braves but then falters at Phil’s finger pointed angrily at the door. 

“Listen, I’m sorry. I’m just a stupid kid, I was desperate and I fucked up. I’m sorry-“ Dan begs as he backs towards the door. The lift button is pressed and Dan wishes it would hurry up.

“You know what the worst thing is, Dan? If that’s your fucking real name at all?” Phil glares, “you could have asked. You could have explained the situation and I would have happily helped you out. You made me dinner and gave me company. But despite proving this to you over and over again you still thought I was someone who you had to manipulate to fork over a petty amount of cash.” Phil shakes his head, “Fucking unbelievable.” 

Dan opens his mouth but it hangs there with no sound.

“Get out,” Phil says before Dan can speak, “I’m used to being used and abused by my employees, by prison guards, by cops and thieves and suppliers. But never did I think I’d be played by someone who I thought was my friend.” 

Phil roughly opens his front door and Dan tucks his tail between his legs and walks into the lift, fighting the burning behind his eyes as the doors shut and Dan hears the door to Phil’s flat slammed behind him. 

With shaking hands he texts Simon and says he’ll give him a fiver if he can be taken home tonight. While he waits for a reply he tucks into himself on the side of the pavement and buries his head in the crook of his arm.

He isn’t supposed to care. He is supposed to be reckless and young and a real do-what-it-takes-to-survive kind of guy. He should have gone through with it and slept with him- he’d have bragging rights that he banged a drug lord, he’d get the money, and Phil wouldn’t be mad at him. Maybe Phil would never find out and they’d be able to hook up again. Maybe nobody would figure out that he liked it, or maybe they would.

Maybe Dan just lost a great shot at a best friend. Or maybe he lost a shot at something even better. Without thinking too hard about it, Dan pulls out his iPhone and sends his current location to himself.

When Simon pulls up with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and aviator sunglasses on despite it being pitch black outside, Dan feels thick, exhausting relief flood through him.

Despite the relief and a half-hour trip home, all Dan can feel as he flops into bed is the weight of crushing guilt. It is a restless sleep.


	8. Silhouette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Dear So-and-So, I’m sorry I came to your party  
>  and seduced you   
> and left you bruised and ruined, you poor sad thing.   
>  You want a better story. Who wouldn’t? " 
> 
> -Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out  
> by Richard Siken

Eight forty-five the next morning promptly reminds Dan of his dilemma. 

“Fuck,” Dan groans to an empty room, turning over in his bed and burying his face into his pillow.

He rather feels like he has nothing left. He had a job, a shitty job, but a job- now that’s gone. He had an apartment- it’s about to be gone. He had his good moral character, but that’s shot to hell as well. 

Mostly for good measure, he lets out a muffled scream into the pillow.

He wants to blame it on Phil. Everything, the whole lot of it. If Phil hadn’t sent his men to break into his flat, he wouldn’t have had his lamp stolen. If his lamp hadn’t of been stolen, he wouldn’t have gone looking for a drug lord at a club and ended up spending the night in said drug lord’s apartment. 

If he hadn’t of spent the night there he might not be having this month long crisis. 

He needs to get money, somehow, and that is the most pressing issue currently. Elliot will probably check in on him eventually to see if he’s on the hunt for a job. 

He gives up on suffocating himself with his bed linens in favour of staring at the ceiling in thought. He’s already ruled out a traditional job- he’d not make enough in time. That leaves odd jobs; he could wash windows or walk dogs. 

After a month he may have a grand total of fifty pounds, at best. 

The drug scene seemed to be doing Phil and Louise well enough; maybe he could tap into that. At this thought he perks up, the gears of his mind turning. That man, the one who picked him and Chris up at Crossroads- he said something about splitting shares. He wouldn’t mind transporting some cocaine or something if it meant he’d still have a place to sleep at night.

Louise might appreciate that Dan didn’t screw over her friend, maybe she’d let him ferry or something. At this point he’s standing and tugging on jeans, anxious and alert. He didn’t necessarily want to step back into the very swamp that almost cost him an arm or a leg, but maybe this is his only option.

He seems to have a lot of “only options” these days. 

Fueled by fear, he cleans his apartment. 

His mum calls about two hours into tidying. Dan is suffocating in laundry as he wildly reaches out his hand for his phone, grabbing blindly until he gasps it and jabs at “answer”. 

“Hey, mum,” He says, a bit breathless.

“Dan, hello. Did I interrupt something?” She sounds drained, like always.

“No, just cleaning the apartment,” He glances around, wondering how the place looks even messier now than when he began.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?”

Dan closes his eyes and presses his free index finger to his right temple. “I don’t work today.”

Or tomorrow, his brain helpfully adds. Or ever.

“Well,” She pauses, and Dan hears someone in the distance on her side of the line, “your father and I are coming to London to see a show the weekend after next.”

“That sounds like fun,” Dan hums, balancing the phone between his neck and ear as he digs through the dryer.

“I was wondering if we could stay in the night in your flat,” She suggests.

Dan freezes with wide eyes, almost dropping the phone into the laundry basket. “I, um,”

“What is it, Dan?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. I guess,” Dan tries to keep his voice steady, “It’ll be good to see you guys.”

“Well then, it’s settled. Bye love, I’ll tell your father,” His mum quickly wraps up the conversation and before Dan can respond the line goes dead.

“Fuck,” Dan groans, tossing his phone onto the couch.

Another bump in the road, he supposes.

 

The flat eventually gets clean, and Dan tosses himself onto his faded black couch with all four limbs that have begun to feel like deadweights. 

His pressing money situation shakes him from the verge of sleep and he unceremoniously showers and pulls on whatever clean black clothes he can find. He drags a straightener over his already fried hair and blinks at himself in the mirror.

He kind of looks like a druggie, at least.

When he reaches Crossroads, it’s almost midnight. Dan slips past the bouncer after he gives Dan a curt nod; he heads straight for the bar once he’s in. Liquid courage will do nothing but help at this point.

“Hey,” Dan nods at the bartender, who is the same guy from a couple weeks ago. The bartender gives him a small smile that means “just a minute” and Dan assumes he’s not be recognized. Thank god. 

It takes approximately three minutes after climbing on a barstool for someone to sit next to Dan and attempt conversation.

“Hey,” The masculine voice drawls, “you look a little young to be here all alone.”

Dan turns reluctantly to give annoyed eyes to the stranger, only to notice the sharp curve of his jawline and light green eyes behind shoulder-length blond hair. 

“Hey,” is all Dan can manage, momentarily stunned. 

“Ah, a talker. Have you ordered?” The stranger grins.

“Not yet,” 

“Let me buy you a drink, then,” The stranger smiles, “my name is Marc.”

“D-dan. My name is Dan,” Dan stutters, wishing he did already have a drink so he could find something to do with his mouth other than speak. 

“What are you drinking tonight, Dan?” Marc moves in closer, a feat Dan did not consider possible.

Dan doesn’t answer, on account of how violently his pulse is racing. 

Ever since he’d kissed Phil for the first time, Dan hadn’t been able to shake those lips. Every inch of him had wanted to keep going- literally every inch. And now, this male stranger was clearly coming onto him. What else to do but let himself get a little practice, right? 

Marc orders for him- beer. Dan kind of hates beer, but that’s what he gets for being too nervous to flirt back and give him the real answer. Maybe it will be good.

Apparently this is the new him; this Dan goes to clubs at midnight and deals drugs- this Dan fucks men and drinks Lager. 

“You okay?” Marc worries, running a hand down Dan’s cheek. 

“Yeah!” Dan forces a bright smile, snapping out of his reverie “Thanks for the drink.”

Marc smiles, lets his hand linger on Dan’s shoulder, and says, “You didn’t come here to meet someone specific, did you?”

“Not really, just hoped to run into some friends,” Dan half-lies, thinking about how he had hoped to run into Chris and Elijah again.

“Then why, lovely boy, do you look so sad?” Marc is still, still! moving closer. 

Dan is impressed with himself for appearing interested, because every part of him wants to shut down. Maybe not the part between his legs. He takes another hearty sip of his beer and says, “Not sad, mostly just stressed.”

“Ah, work stressing you out?” 

“Not exactly,” Dan coughs, letting the soft beginnings of a buzz to radiate through him. Despite the voice begging him to not tell a stranger his life problems, he does. “I’m about to be kicked out of my flat unless I scrounge up some money, somehow.”

“Ouch,” Marc presses his lips into a thin line, “I know we just met, but maybe I could help you out with that?”

Dan wants to scream; he’s not attempting to fuck anyone for money ever again. “I’m sorry that’s not-“

Marc laughs, “Not like that. I own my own… business. I could definitely use some short term help, and I pay well.”

“Shit, for real?” Dan lets out the breath he’d been holding since Marc’s fingers grazed his neck.

“Definitely, you’re too pretty to be stressed. I don’t think worry lines would do you well.” 

Dan lets out a little smile and finally relaxes; he’s no longer as stressed about the idea of having to transport drugs and only slightly stressed about his gay crisis. All in all, a pretty good mental state.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Dan puts a hand on Marc’s thigh and presses down the slightest bit.

At this, Marc lights up like a goddamn Christmas tree. 

“Let’s get out of here,” he murmurs, “we can smoke a bowl in my car and then I’ll tell you want you need to do for me.”

Dan freezes at the mention of weed. He’s never smoked it, definitely seen people smoke it, but he ultimately has no idea how it will affect him. So naturally, he nods and stands and follows Marc hand-in-hand out the doors of the club.

“Did you, uh, pay for the drinks?” Dan mentions as the blustery cold hits them both.

“Greg has me on a tab, it’s fine,” Marc assures in a way that doesn’t really reassure Dan.

They end up in a black Maserati and Dan feels like his thirty quid jeans are tainting the Italian leather, somehow. It is dark around the tinted windows, but the small lights on the dashboard light up Marc’s features. 

“Fuck, this is a nice car,” Dan knows nothing about cars, but he knows this.

And then, without much warning, he’s being kissed.

“Mmph!” Dan mumbles as a tongue is being shoved into his mouth. 

It’s not altogether unpleasant, really, as the beer Dan practically chugged is making its way through his bloodstream and his head is spinning with pleasure at being dominated like this.

It feels like something is missing and Dan’s mind flickers back to the way Phil felt, steady below him with his hands on Dan’s thighs…

Marc unbuttons Dan’s jeans without consent, pulling Dan out and tugging lazily at him as their mouths stay connected. 

“This okay?” Marc asks a second too late, punctuating the words with a nip at Dan’s neck.

Dan gasps at the neck touch and Marc takes it as a “go ahead for anything else you want to do” and adjusts in the car to bend over and swallow Dan whole.

“Fuck, fuck-“ Dan can’t help but pant, involuntarily thrusting up into Marc’s mouth.

It’s definitely the alcohol, or maybe the expert way Marc is cupping Dan’s balls as he licks up Dan’s shaft repeatedly, but Dan’s coming before Marc can even get his mouth around him. There’s suddenly come on the center console and on Marc’s fingers.

“Lick it off,” Marc says firmly, holding up his hand by Dan’s mouth.

Dan, in post-orgasm haze, does as he’s told. He takes Marc’s fingers one by one, even the non-tainted ones, and sucks them clean. 

“Lick it off,” Marc repeats when Dan is done, this time pointing at the console.

“I-“ Dan starts, but the look in Marc’s eyes is intimidating and so he leans over, running his tongue once, twice, three times over black leather. It’s bitter in like, four different ways and the taste lingers on Dan’s tongue. 

“Good boy,” Marc says before locking the doors of the car. 

Dan snaps out of his bliss and sits up straighter, working to tuck himself back into his jeans. He wants to leave at this point, but his mind is telling him to remain calm above all else.

“Now, Dan Howell, you need money. And I need you,” Marc says slowly.

“W-what?” Dan swallows.

“I own my own business, it’s true- but it’s a drug cartel,” He grins.

Dan feels that scream from earlier coming back into his lungs, filling him with something terrifying and thick. Why is everyone he talks to involved with drugs? But he didn’t really talk to Marc, did he? Marc talked to him. God, why is his head spinning so much? He barely drank.

And he definitely never told Marc his surname.

“How did you- how did you know?” Dan tries to say, but his head spins. And spins. 

“Know what?” Marc asks, calm as ever.

“Know Howell. My last name,” Sweat pours down Dan’s face as he fights the pull.

“Dan, Dan, Dan. Dan. I know you!” Marc puts the car into drive from somewhere in the distance of Dan’s mind. “You know Ripto, correct? I’ve seen you come and go to his flat- seen you on that pretty bike of his,” 

“Fuck, we’re not even friends,” Dan begs, “I swear. He hates me.”

“Oh no, he doesn’t hate you,” Marc practically growls, “he likes you, wants you. Wants you to sit on his cock, for sure.”

“Stop, I can’t help you. I hurt him, he doesn’t want anything to do with me,” Dan fights the spinning in his head and digs his fingers into the leather. The leather, the leather, he licked the leather- bitter, bitter-

“You hurt Ripto? You’re more valuable to me than I previously thought,” Marc laughs, those green eyes twinkling in the low light of the car, “I want a promotion, I’m sick of being treated like shit on the bottom of a shoe. The next step up is Ripto’s position.” 

“Don’t- don’t kill him,” Dan can’t help the way the words tumble out of his mouth. He tries to focus his eyes on the rain-streaked windshield. The car is rumbling but they’re staying still, at least he thinks they’re staying still.

“Oh no, you don’t think I’d kill him! I’m a nice guy, Dan. Really nice. I’m the nicest guy in the world, which is why I’m letting you go.”

“Let me go?” Dan asks, his eyes now clamped shut.

“Yes. I need you to get me Phil’s list of clients. Whatever it takes- do it. And if you don’t, I’m going to track you down. I demonstrated my ability in tracking down people well tonight, I hope.”

“Why?” Dan says through his teeth, prying his bloodshot eyes open to stare Marc down. “Why are you doing this?”

“I’m going to destroy him, and if you don’t help me- I’m going to destroy you too.” Marc says with an air of finality before leaning over and kissing Dan on the lips once more. 

“I,” Dan seethes through the drugs, “will not let you lay a finger on him if it is the last thing I do.”

“I’m going to let you re-think that. Just remember, you can’t run. You can’t hide. You help me, or you die.” 

“I think you underestimate how much I want to die,” Dan spits, trying to illicit a reaction from his kidnapper other than an eye roll.

“Bye, Dan. Have the list of clients ready for me by midnight Friday. That gives you five days,” Marc says with faux warmth, “I’ll send someone to your door and they’ll say they are there on behalf of Marcel.”

“Fuck,” Dan realizes, “You’re-“

“Damn straight. Have a lovely week, Dan,” Marcel laughs manically before unlocking all the doors with a button. 

Dan, drugged but fighting, immediately opens the door and scrambles out, slamming it before staggering in the direction he thought they came from. 

It must be at least half an hour later when he finds a sturdy wall and clings to it for dear life, his short fingernails scratching down red brick as he slides to the ground. And then, in the faint rain showers of this Sunday evening, everything goes black.


	9. Chicanery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You have to stop  
> searching for why at some point  
> you have to leave it alone"  
> -Rupi Kaur

“Shh, stay still,” A soft voice seems to float above him; it collides with the warmth spreading across his face. 

There is warmth everywhere, actually, as pain shoots through his head.

“Where am I?” He says, but it sounds like “Mmph? Wheresme?” 

“Dan, are you up?” The voice says again, and Dan finds a surprising amount of comfort in the fact the voice knows his name. 

“Mum?” Dan feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes as his stomach lurches, “I feel shit, I-“

At this moment his eyes open violently with a sharp gasp and then Dan is turning over and vomiting onto the ground. He can barely register that he’s puking on carpet, but once he does he is powerless to stop it.

“I reckon that’s probably a good thing to do,” the voice continues, sounding as calm as ever. “Get it all out, and whatnot.” 

When Dan is done with his lovely display of what he ate earlier, he turns at last to the woman and feebly says, “Hi.”

“Hi Dan,” She says. She’s beautiful, with a button nose and dark curly hair. He doesn’t recognize her, but he’s thankful she is the one tending to him.

“Hi. What’s happening? Who are you?”

“I’m Sophie- we’ve never met. My friends found you on the ground outside a club last night and recognized you, so they called me and asked me what to do. It’s about a quarter past nine on Monday,” She explains carefully, pushing one strand of curls back behind her ear, only for it to pop away a second later.

“Who are your friends?” Dan coughs, pushing himself to a sitting position on the sofa. 

“Chris is my friend, and Elijah is his boyfriend,” Sophie nudges a glass of water towards Dan and he drinks gratefully. 

“Oh, I met them before. They didn’t need to get you involved,” Dan frowns.

“I’m a nursing student- they thought I was their best bet,” Sophie laughs, the sound light and lovely, “They were right, by the way. You had a fever, low BMP, your entire face was purple-“

“I,” Dan freezes, surveying his body to see if there are any bumps or bruises, “I don’t really remember what happened after the car- I was in a car with Marc- Marcel, I- Marcel!” 

Dan blanches and throws the blanket off of his body, trying his best to scramble to his feet, “I have to warn Phil-“ as he stands his body reacts terribly, his stomach lurches and his vision goes splotchy.

“Hey, hey! Speed racer, sit back down,” Sophie taps his chest and he falls back onto the sofa. “You were roofied, the signs are pretty obvious. Maybe take it easy for today.”

“Sophie, you’re lovely, so lovely, but something bad is going to happen to my- my friend and I have to get to him,” Dan stands again, slowly this time as he lets the spinning in his head adjust.

“Will you at least let me give you a ride? I don’t know if I trust you to not pass out on the tube.” 

“That would be awesome. I think. I’ll totally clean up my puke before I leave-“ Dan looks down and is instantly reminded of how ill he feels right now. “Do you mind if I shower as well?”

“Please, take your time,” She assures, “towels are in the linen closet in the hall.”

Dan thanks her and begins heading towards the bathroom, his head almost back to normal.

\---------------

“You know,” Dan drums his fingers on the center console of Sophie’s car, “I’ve been drugged twice this year.”

“That’s terrible, you should probably stop going to bars, kid,” She gives him a squinty-eyed glance.

“Well the second time was a maniac who made me lick his car and then threatened to kill me,”

“What?!” 

“Nevermind that though, the first person to drug me is the one I’m about to go warn about the second guy,” Dan laughs, loud and hysterical, “I used to work with tools! I almost sold an axe to a twelve year old!” 

“Are you sure you want me to do this?” Sophie looks over at him, worry heavy in her eyes, as they are stopped at a red light.

Dan had given her Phil’s address- the one he had sent himself two nights ago. Dan can’t believe that was only two nights ago.

“Yes, I need to. It’s fine, everything is fine,” Dan says, mostly to reassure himself. “Besides, I was a dick to him. He’s probably having a pretty bad week.”

Dan imagines Phil pouting on the sofa, covered in blankets. Dan imagines making them both a cup of coffee and curling around each other and playing a round of Mario cart side by side-

“Dan?” Sophie waves a hand in front of his face.

“Sorry, sorry. I was just. Drifting.” Dan frowns, shaking his head. “What did you say?”

“I asked if this was it?” She laughs with her eyebrows furrowed.

Dan looks up and sees the familiar white building blocking the skyline. Suddenly, his chest is tight and he wants to tell her to drive as far away as she can- but he doesn’t.

“Yep, this is it. Is there anything I can do to repay you? You did, after all, save my life,” Dan reaches out a hand and takes one of hers.

“Honestly, you seem young- full of life. Please avoid the drug scene. I know this is Krypton you’re going to see, I know that you probably were doing some kind of deal when you got drugged. My boyfriend PJ decided it was an easy way to make cash and now I worry about him all the time- do you know what that’s like?” She pleads, gripping onto Dan’s hand.

“I-“ Dan opens his mouth to speak but closes it for a minute instead.

“I’m not here to tell you want to do- just, I’m going to be a nurse soon, and I want to help people. And, well, an ounce of prevention is worth a gallon of a cure.” 

“I can’t promise you anything, but I swear that I will try. Right now, I really have to help my friend,” Dan gives her hand one last squeeze before letting go. “Thank you again, Sophie.”

“Anytime, Dan. Be safe,” She bids him farewell and she stays on the side of the road until Dan is in the lobby of the building, and then she drives away with Dan’s last chance of an out.

The same breaks-hearts-for-a-living woman is behind the counter and she arches a perfectly shaped eyebrow at him before unlocking the door to the lift room. 

In the lift itself, he is alone. 

Dan hopes Phil isn’t too upset. He wonders briefly if he is going to walk in on a miserable Phil drinking himself into a stupor- or maybe he’ll walk in on a wild orgy. That might be fun. Maybe Phil would be quicker to forgive him if his lips were around Phil’s dick. 

That lovely image is interrupted by a ding on the fifteenth floor, accompanied by the doors opening to reveal a shut door. This time, Dan is quick to remember the code. 

Phil definitely didn’t account for his near photographic memory when it comes to numbers and patterns; perhaps years of having no friends but plenty of online puzzle games helped prepare him for this very moment.

The door swings open and Dan quietly shuts it behind him. He walks the few steps of the corridor and then turns, expecting to see Phil watching TV or crying or-

He’s in a suit. And there are five or so other men, in suits. And they’re all staring at Dan, who is not in a suit. 

Dan, who didn’t have a straightener after his shower so his hair is curly, and Dan, who is wearing one of Sophie’s light pink jumpers because his clothes were fucked from being roofied and left to die in a rainy alleyway. 

“Hi,” Dan coughs, desperately wishing to disappear into thin air.

“Right, Ripto. Who the fuck is that?” One of the other men scoffs, adjusting the glass of champagne in his hand. 

Phil looks, in a word, done. He definitely isn’t the sobbing mess Dan predicted, nor does he look particularly angry. He just looks like he’d rather Dan leave right away, which hurts a lot more than either of the other options.

“That,” Phil hesitates, but gracefully, “is my cook. And he’s late.”

Ouch. Dan bites his lip and nods, crossing his arms, “Sorry boss.”

“Well, get on it then. Better late than never, I suppose,” Phil rolls his eyes.

His ensemble laughs in unison; they are loud and unpleasant and Dan instantly dislikes every single one of them. He thinks about this as he retreats to the kitchen.

Yeah, like Phil has any food for Dan to make hors d'oeuvres. 

At least in the kitchen he can be alone with his grievances. He shifts through pots and pans and every cupboard and the fridge three times before settling on shortbread cakes and strawberry compote. 

He hums to himself and listens to the scattered conversation of the men in suits. Which, Dan reminds himself, includes a pissed off Phil. Whose house he just broke into.

Dan considers running off as soon as the food is done but he doesn’t care too much about his own wellbeing right now- he needs to warn Phil about what he learned last night no matter how much Phil hates him right now.

When the dish is finished he brings it into the lounge and sets it down on the coffee table. Phil gives him a look that Dan expects to hold more malice than appreciation, but it looks a little bit like surprise and a little bit more like forgiveness.

He hides in the kitchen until everyone leaves. When the house is silence after the last shutting of the door, he stands and waits for Phil to inevitably join him.

Sure enough, moments later Phil arrives holding the platter of untouched food, setting it on the breakfast bar before taking one of the cakes and popping it into his mouth. 

“Pretty good,” Phil nods, mouth still full. 

Dan is too scared to speak.

“You know,” Phil begins again once he swallows, “I didn’t expect you to be able to make anything. Drug dealers wouldn’t take food from other drug dealers anyway- that’s a quick way to be poisoned.” 

“Phil, I-“ Dan begins, no part of him caring about his treats gone to waste- 

“Dan, save it,” Phil gives a tight-lipped smile. “I’m surprised that you managed to arrive unannounced, considering I have every car associated with me tapped, and that you managed to somehow memorize the code to my door. I change that weekly, by the way- you got lucky. Try that again and the alarms will go off.” 

“I just,” Dan starts again, “I’m sorry. After everything that happened, I needed to see you.”

Dan feels exhausted and, despite the circumstances, here in Phil’s kitchen staring at the familiar murky brown of Phil’s artificial contacts, he feels safer than he has in weeks. 

“What, what happened?” Phil’s voice goes softer.

“Marcel found me last night, and he-“ 

“Marcel? That fucking-“

“Phil, wait,” Dan feels himself cower under the look of hatred in Phil’s eyes, but pushes on, “I didn’t know it was him, he got me into his car and drugged me. He said, he said-“ Tears burn behind Dan’s eyes as he remembers the terror he felt. 

“Hey, hey, come on,” Phil steps forward and takes Dan’s hands, tugging him to the lounge. They sit on one of the white couches side by side as Dan breathes into his cupped hands. “You’re okay, it’s okay. Tell me what happened.”

Dan takes a shaky breath and curls in on himself, one hand locked in Phil’s. Phil’s arm is wrapped around his shoulders. He feels so young, so immature. So much like none of this should have happened. He decides to tell the entire truth. 

“I’m about to be kicked out of my flat, and I need money, so I decided to do the normal t-thing and offer to transport drugs, or whatever,” 

Phil frowns instantly, but his arm around Dan’s shoulder does not ease up.

“I- I went to Crossroads, the club, and this guy sits down beside me and starts flirting with me and Phil I- I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and I knew I’d fucked up, and I just went with him because he was being nice,” 

“Shh,” Phil murmurs, rubbing the thin fabric of Dan’s t-shirt where his hand lays. 

“I went with him and he sucked me off but then he made me lick it off his,” Dan waves his free hand wildly, “Center, car thingy, it was leather and way too bitter and I think, I think he roofied me off his car, is that crazy? Is that crazy?”

“He assaulted you? Dan, fuck, that’s-“ 

“Not really? I, um, wanted it, I wanted it and then he drugged me and threatened to, kill you. Fuck, he said he was going to destroy you. And me, and me,” Dan’s breathing heavily again. 

There is a moment where they briefly take it in. Phil for the first time, Dan for the second.

“Marcel is bad news, I can’t believe he dragged you into this,” Phil says softly enough that Dan wonders if he is even supposed to hear.

“I thought, I thought your men got him? After me?” 

“No. He wasn’t there, he had paid someone off to give me a false lead. So I had that person killed,” Phil says softly, a tone that does not match his words. “I don’t like to be played.”

“I had to tell you, I’m sorry I broke in,” Dan coughs, “I’m so sorry for everything, Phil.” 

“It’s okay. You’re young; you get to make mistakes. You… you deserve second chances. I’ve made plenty of mistakes, I forgive you, I do,” Phil promises, the words reassuring and honest. 

Dan leans into his chest, closing his eyes and breathing out. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Phil says back, a little bit softer. A little bit warmer. 

They stay like that for a while. The sunlight filters through the floor to ceiling windows and drowns them in gentle warmth. Phil rubs his thumb in circles on Dan’s shoulder and Dan paces his breathing to the rhythm.

Dan wants to stay like this forever.

Phil’s suit jacket is damp from Dan’s tears but Phil doesn’t seem to mind. Dan thinks Phil suited the t-shirt look more, anyway. He shifts in Phil’s arms and then he’s lying down, tugging Phil down beside him by his lapels. 

“’M tired,” Dan doesn’t care how Phil sees him, not right now. Right now he feels like he needs a cuddle and to sleep for fifteen hours- and he has this warm man who smells faintly like champagne and peppermint beside him.

“Okay, sure,” Phil lets Dan tug him horizontally and Dan buries his face in Phil’s chest. 

“Thank you,” Dan mumbles against the soft fabric of Phil’s button down, “thank you,”

“Of course,” are the last words Dan registers before he’s falling unconscious.

Phil is his pillow, and the illusion of safety is his duvet.

He sleeps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more exam until my spring break, expect a lot of updates!! Thank you for the comments, they make me excited to write more. :D


	10. Affliction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And the stars down so close, and sadness and pleasure so close together, really the same thing."  
> —John Steinbeck

Dan wakes up because he’s suffocating face-down in white leather. The flat is too warm and his bare skin sticks to the surface of the sofa. He peels himself off and sits up groggily, the inside of his mouth disgusting.

“Phil?” He glances around the sun-drenched lounge. 

There is no reply. In fact, it seems as though Dan has woken up in a world where nobody at all exists; it is just him and his two-day old clothes wandering around a fancy flat.

“Does he ever sleep?” Dan squints, peering down the hallway toward Phil’s room. 

He pushes open Phil’s door only to find it void of Phil. The room is as tidy as Dan remembers, but one of the drawers in the chest of drawers is pulled open half way. Without really thinking about it, Dan steps forward and takes a peek.

It is filled with prescription pill bottles.

Filled. 

Dan can’t help the way his stomach drops at seeing over 20 pill bottles in a drawer alone. Not really alone, though, as they’re accompanied by a mortar and pestle. 

“What the fuck,” Dan breathes, picking up one of the bottles. The name reads Richard Moore, and the next is for Catherine Mendel. None for Phil Lester. 

He keeps digging through the empty bottles, his hands shaking slightly. The mortar has faint remains of white powder and he can’t place the feeling that lodges itself in his chest.

“Dan,” A voice says behind him, and Dan freezes instantly. 

“Um,” Dan turns without shutting the drawer, fear flooding through his veins. 

“What are you doing?” Phil looks strangely calm and calculated. 

“I-“ The blood is rushing to Dan’s head as he scrambles to think of any excuse-

“I meant that rhetorically,” Phil drawls, “I assume you aren’t looking for breakfast in my bedroom drawers.”

“I was looking for you, and then this drawer was open. And it’s- it’s fuck, filled with pill bottles,” Dan stammers, shoving his damp palms into the pockets of his jeans.

“I’m a drug dealer-“

“You said you didn’t partake,” Dan corrects, 

“I said not often,” Phil seems to back down with something, maybe anger- maybe guilt. “At least not coke or heroine.” 

“What is it, then?” Dan asks.

“What’s it to you?” Phil’s eyes narrow.

“This isn’t healthy,” Dan argues, “do you take these pills, whatever, often?”

“Most of the time,” 

“Most? Have you been high the entire time I’ve known you?” Dan laughs somewhat hysterically. 

“Except the time I showed up at yours on my birthday,” Phil confesses. 

“Fuck,” Dan laughs again, this time more softly, “I would have never guessed.”

“They’re opioids,” Phil says suddenly.

Dan remembers learning about opioids and opiates in school- he’d done his psychology thesis on how uppers affect the brain. How convenient, he thinks bitterly.

Trouble sleeping, lack of appetite, dilated pupils- it’s basically Phil in a nutshell.

“You just going to keep staring at me like I’m a crazy person?” Phil asks softly.

“Just having a little trouble processing this, is all, you’ll have to forgive me,” Dan explains softly, “I thought you were different. Someone who was doing what they had to get by but who wouldn’t compromise on their ethics.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. I’m just me; I’m me but calmer and more focused. I’m me but I don’t have to bother cooking all the time- I’m just. Me. And I never promised you any other version of myself.” 

“I know, Phil,” Dan shakes his head, “can we go sit down in the lounge or something?”

Phil nods and they walk back to the leather couches. It’s nearly seven pm and the sun is beginning to set over London. The apartment has the faintest touch of orange projected onto the stark white walls.

They sit across from each other, mirrored crossed-leg positions.

“So we need to have a discussion,” Phil begins, to Dan’s surprise. “I tried to tell you to not get involved in this, but now it’s happened.”

“Drugs? What?” Dan cocks his head. 

“Marcel, my life, the likes,” Phil explains, “I don’t know why you’ve insisted on sticking around, okay? If I could go back in time and just force you to keep the money so we wouldn’t be in this situation, I would. But unfortunately that can’t happen.”

“I’m sorry, I am,” Dan thinks about how this most of this is his fault and his stomach churns. He doesn’t allow himself to think about how this probably means phil doesn’t want him here at all.

“I know you are. And I’ve lied to you more than you know. This,” Phil waves his arms as if showing off his living room, “this is a mess. My life is a mess. You can’t touch this and be free- I told you this. I’m sorry too, that my men got your flat number wrong.” 

“You think that your life is worse than mine was? I hated waking up in the morning, Phil. I hated it. I hate my shitty apartment; I hated my job. I wanted adventure and drama and anything but this god awful cycle of being bored and broke all the fucking time. And then I met you and I can’t believe I thought using you was okay, or good-“

“Dan, I-“

“Let me finish. I’m sorry I did that, because I definitely shouldn’t have. And you can forgive me up and down and sideways and I still won’t forgive myself for that. Not when I care about you the way I do,” Dan finishes, his words losing volume but not losing meaning. 

“You’re right, you shouldn’t have. But you stopped yourself and you apologized and I care too much about you to never forgive you,” Phil stands suddenly and crosses over to Dan’s couch. 

“You care about me?” Dan stammers, aware of how close Phil is to him now.

“I do, yeah. And if we’re being open and honest here, I suppose I should come clean about a couple things,” Phil hesitates, avoiding eye contact, “my brother didn’t drop me off that one day I came over unannounced.’ 

And that’s definitely not what Dan expected Phil to say.

“Okay, then who did?” 

“I drove myself- I was out of out of pills. I was sober for the first day in ages and it was my birthday and I just, I don’t know, you know?”

Dan doesn’t.

“I was going to see if I could get more but I ended up nearby and I just wanted to see you for some reason. I felt like for the first time you made me feel like a normal human instead of some criminal drug boss,” Phil laughs, but it is airy and void of humour. 

Dan ignores the way he wants to reach out and take Phil’s hand and instead says, “You’re not some criminal.”

“You made me food,” Phil frowns, as if realizing something for the first time, “after letting me stay. I just showed up, and you welcomed me in. Why?”

“I asked you why you had come over, why you had thought of me,” Dan laughs, “And I don’t think either of us knows the answer. Guess we’re doomed to be fond of one another for no good reason.”4

“Are you?” Phil laughs softly, his face orange in the glow of the sunset.

“Fond of you? Yes,” Dan nods slowly, “very much so.”

“Me too. I mean, I’m fond of you,” Phil corrects himself, this time reaching out a hand as if to take Dan’s but pulling back before he can. 

“So, I guess that’s on the table now. We’ve both lied and fucked up certain things but we’re still here. And… fond.” Dan rambles for a second, the dull roar of blood in his ears muffling his words.

“But there’s more to it than that,” Phil says before Dan can ramble any further, “We’ve got Marcel to deal with.”

“I’ve also kind of got the pressing issue of being evicted on my plate at the moment,” Dan shifts, remembering his predicament. 

“Forget about that, I’ll pay it for you. You’re on a hit list, Dan. To be killed, because you’ve been hanging around me. Do you realize that that’s pretty messed up?”

“You’ll pay my rent?” Dan says, ignoring the part about his imminent death.

“Yeah, I will. If you promise to help me take down Marcel,” Phil clears his throat, “and then you never have to worry about any of this again.”

“I will help, of course,” Dan agrees, “he wants your list of clients. He told me to get it and he’ll be at my flat Friday to pick it up.” 

“Him, specifically, or one of his rats?” 

“Probably a rat. So we can’t just meet him there,” Dan worries his lower lip for a second in contemplative silence.

“Let’s go deeper,” Phil suggests, disappearing into the kitchen for a moment before returning with an iPad. “Just throwing this out there, what if you refrain from getting the list at all, yeah? His minion shows up, you’re empty-handed- or, better yet, I’m there instead.”

“Why can’t we just hide,” Dan frowns, “turn him into the police or something?”

“Marcel will always find me. Always,” Phil frowns, “I need to get rid of him once and for all.” 

“Why did he out you?” Dan asks on a whim.

Phil turns to face him and stays quiet for a long minute, his face tight and calculated. “Who told you that?” 

“Louise,” Dan doesn’t feel like lying anymore. Louise was the one who told him to use Phil like that- surely she can’t be someone Dan needs to protect.

“Of course she did,” Phil rolls his eyes, “she’s not one to keep secrets. He outted me to try to steal back our clients.”

“Our? You guys shared?” Dan leans forward on the sofa.

“I- shit. Yeah, we used to be together, actually,” Phil says like a confession.

“Fuck,” Dan lets out a low whistle. They used to be lovers, shit. Fire burns deep in Dan’s chest and he hates Marcel even more, even more than he had when Marcel was drugging him in his car. 

“Yeah. Yeah,” Phil shakes his head as if trying to release the memory, “We were a bit of a power couple, so to say. We had all the clients in this area and then… it went to his head. I used to be completely sober but then we would drink and smoke pot and pop pills every single day. He was the one who got me hooked on uppers…” 

“Fuck him, seriously,” Dan is taken aback. 

“I think that was his intent. He loved the lifestyle more than he loved me. The drugs, money, sex- they were the only things that mattered. He woke up, smoked a blunt, begged me for sex and then tried to work and sucked at it. And the more I fell into his patterns the more sloppy I became.”

Phil stops for a second and presses his knuckles to his lips. 

“That’s fucked up,” Dan tries to sound comforting, putting a hand on Phil’s back.

“It was fun, sometimes,” Phil seems to recover a little, “but eventually I had enough. I kicked him out. Blamed it on the drugs, on the sex, on everything but me. And he left.”

“What happened next?” Dan keeps his tone calm despite the suspense lingering in the back of his throat.

“Everyone trusted me more- I was always the one who got the work done before I had fun so they stayed on my side. All our ferriers chose me, most of our clients only wanted to deal with me. Marcel hated that, and he was trying to maintain his lifestyle without the money- which, as you can imagine, didn’t work too well.”

“So he’s been trying to sabotage you ever since,” Dan nods, his hand still on Phil’s back.

“Yeah. And then he outted me to everyone and I thought people wouldn’t care but I lost enough employees and clients to hurt. I just- I was so fed up with him after that. He hates every boy he sees me with- he’s obsessed with the idea that he can get me back and I just want nothing to do with him,” Phil’s voice harbours a certain anger now that Dan hasn’t heard before. It’s thick and angry in a way that scares him slightly.

“So that’s why he tracked me down,” Dan hums, “so I could hurt you from the inside out. As if I would.”

“I had to get new men, they aren’t as competent. I’m just lucky they noticed you weren’t Marcel, if anyone tried to lay a hand on you now I’d-“

“Wait, didn’t everyone already figure you two were together?” Dan interrupts, not wanting to confront the way Phil spoke protectively of him. 

“I don’t think so. We were just bachelors living it up, I don’t think anyone assumed we were involved with each other. It was less than six months that we even dated. God, I fucking hate him,” Phil growls, and Dan retracts his hand. “Sorry.” 

“You could out him back,” Dan suggests.

“I wouldn’t do that. I don’t play on that level.”

“But you’ll kill him?” Dan almost laughs.

“I don’t know how else to get him to stop ruining my life,” Phil groans, falling into his hands. “I’m so tired of dealing with him and his issues. I thought I escaped this.”

“You said it yourself, in this life sometimes you just can’t escape the people you meet. Like me, I guess.”

“But you’re better,” Phil says firmly, “so much better than he ever was. Like right now, if I wanted to stop talking about this and play Donkey Kong you would probably be just fine with that.”

“Let’s do it, I’ll make us dinner,” Dan smiles softly and takes the hint, standing.

“The kitchen should be stocked pretty well, I had my friend Roseanna bring me groceries while you were asleep,” Phil says.

“You didn’t have to do that,” 

“I kind of hoped you’d stick around for a few days, actually. Not just for the food,” Phil corrects quickly. 

Dan just smiles to himself and hums as he heads towards the kitchen; the sounds of Phil setting up the Wii U linger in the background. Dan likes that Phil trusts him this way. It feels like a big step forward in the direction he wants it to be going.

Dan isn’t quite sure of the destination right now; he isn’t sure if there is really a goal here. All he knows is that this life is now, however minimally, his as well and he cares about Phil more than he’s cared about anything or anyone in a long time. 

Night settles swiftly over the city and the next few hours fill themselves with video games and grilled chicken with roasted potatoes. It is comfortable and quiet and for a little while it’s as if they are just casual friends who hang out and play video games.

Dan’s heart hurts for Phil’s past. A part of him feels smug for being the subject of Phil’s attention. He’s a stupid kid who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and suddenly he’s where Marcel wishes he could be. 

With the new, faint swelling of pride in his chest that feels like a bit like happiness, Dan continues kicking Phil’s ass in Donkey Kong. 

The problems of tomorrow can wait until then.


	11. Mahogany

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We all have one foot in a fairytale, and the other in the abyss."  
> \- Paulo Coelho

There is something about being on a hit list that gives life a little extra spice, Dan realizes as he looks up at Phil from where he is lying on the floor. 

He’s been staring at Phil for a good while now as Phil glares at his laptop on the sofa. He wonders if his landlord has been wondering where he is. Most of the past few days have been spent on this sofa, doing nothing important, because hanging out with Phil is infinitely more fun than being alone in his flat.

“Hey,” Dan nudges at Phil’s leg with his own, “It’s Wednesday.” 

“Good observation,” Phil notes.

“We have a two days until your manic ex-lover is going to show up at my house possibly with the intent to kill me,” Dan laughs, for some reason he laughs.

“I’ll sort that out. I’m trying to organize the next exchange right now- Peej said he doesn’t want to help Tyler anymore and I’m begging Felix to take up the slack,” Phil huffs, running a hand through his hair. 

“Okay cool but,” Dan pushes himself into a sitting position and puts an arm on Phil’s leg, “Death. Imminent death.” 

“You’ll be fine,” Phil rolls his eyes, “I’ve had a million death threats.”

“More ex-lovers?” Dan laughs.

“What’s with you and my exes?” Phil mumbles, his eyes now pointedly focused on the screen in front of him.

“Well, for starters, one is trying to kill me,” Dan gives up on pestering Phil and falls back onto the floor, giving an exaggerated groan on the way down. “I’m bored. Can we go to get milkshakes or something?”

“Sure,” Phil says with a little bite to his tone, “but if I can’t get this sorted you’ll have to deliver for Tyler this week.”

“Okay, sure,” Dan shrugs from the floor.

Phil goes still and finally turns to Dan with narrowed eyebrows, “I was joking.”

“To be fair, asking me to help you out with your job doesn’t seem like a very funny subject,” Dan knows why Phil doesn’t want him helping. And he understands it, he does. 

But the cold fact of the matter is that Dan kind of has nothing to lose in this world and Phil has a business to uphold- the obvious solution would be to help Phil out.

“I don’t want you to-“ Phil pauses, like his subconscious is acknowledging that something fundamental has changed between them. Something deeper than surface level; something bigger than the two of them. 

“I know,” Dan says softly. 

He’s got to understand that Phil’s been doing this a long time without him- and he’s probably not planning to stop anytime soon. As much as he feels like he and Phil are close by this point- bonded by death threats and food but bonded nonetheless- he cannot forget that this is not his territory- and Phil is not his.

“Don’t be sad,” Phil’s frowning at him.

“I’m not,” Dan immediately shakes the wave of emotion that hits him out of nowhere. He wants it to pass through him like rain- like every other damn emotion he’s felt for the past three years- but it doesn’t. It sticks itself hard into his chest and stays there.

“Come on, let’s go get milkshakes,” Phil closes his laptop, “I’m tired of dealing with these morons.”

“So you want to deal with this moron instead?” Dan cracks a halfhearted smile.

“Sounds about right,” Phil grins before standing and helping Dan to his feet.

The moon is out. This is the first thing Dan notices when they exit the building- this time late enough that the familiar doorwoman is nowhere to be seen. 

The night is still and warm, the pavement hard under their feet as they walk to the row of restaurants nearby. Dan almost runs into a post because his eyes are still focused on the giant moon hovering in the sky.

“Watch out!” Phil laughs, dragging Dan out of the way of the post. 

Dan laughs as he stumbles into Phil, tearing his eyes away from the sky. “Fuck, thanks,” 

“Do you ever go outside?” Phil tsk’s jokingly, his hand still on Dan’s wrist.

“Not unless it’s with the promise of milkshakes,” Dan grins, his entire arm hyper-aware of Phil’s grip.

“It’s nice out tonight, I’m glad you dragged me from the flat,” Phil says suddenly, his eyes flickering up at the moon.

“Y-yeah,” Dan agrees as Phil’s grip loosens and disappears reluctantly.

With the steady light of the moon encouraging him, Dan reaches out and takes Phil’s hand properly, giving it the faintest of squeezes. 

Maybe time slows down for a second- or maybe this is what happiness feels like. Phil’s hand is strong, and warm. Dan remembers watching Phil’s hands tremble slightly when Phil typed on his laptop, but in Dan’s hand Phil’s is steady.

“Is this okay?” Dan whispers after they spend a minute walking in silence. 

“Yeah,” Phil says softly.

They continue walking in silence that Dan can’t quite peg as comfortable. He isn’t even sure he wants a milkshake anymore; he’s pretty sure all he wants is Phil. Forever.

And where the fuck did that come from? He’s definitely never felt this way about a boy, or anyone maybe. His ex-girlfriend had made him happy for sure, but he’s never felt his heart do the flippy-over-thing. What the fuck.

Dan blanches and he’s sure Phil can feel his palm heating up. When the Shake Shack comes into view, Dan’s equally disappointed and thankful.

“I really like anything super sweet,” Phil’s going off about his preferred milkshake type when he releases Dan’s hand. “It’s how I take my coffee- and liquor. Sweet.”

“I like my coffee black,” Dan forces his heart rate down.

“Do you like your milkshakes black as well?” Phil teases, holding the door open for Dan.

“Actually, I prefer them white. White chocolate with Malteasers, to be exact.”

“Good choice. I’m going with the chocolate covered Oreo shake,” Phil says partially to Dan and partially to the employee leaning against the counter.

“Okay, will you two be together or separate?” The employee drones in an uninterested voice.

“Together,” Phil says instantly, not allowing Dan to speak.

“Okay. And for you?” She turns to Dan with a small smile- perhaps upon noticing that they were together. Together, whatever that’s supposed to mean.

“He’ll have the white chocolate with Malteasers,” Phil orders for him, a slight smirk on his face. 

They sip their drinks in silence in a tiny booth in the corner.

“Why are you suddenly so quiet, Dan?” Phil asks when the silence is too much.

“I’m trying to process the fact that I’m possibly in love with you,” Is not what Dan says. He instead says,

“I think I’m scared,” Which is also true.

“Don’t worry about Marcel; if you don’t want to be involved in the plan I can handle him. I don’t know how, but I will keep you safe,” Phil frowns, “if you don’t want to be involved with any of this, you don’t have to be. I will personally make sure this never affects-“

“Phil, Phil, I-“ Dan stops because how can he voice this? How can he possibly stop in the middle of a terrible situation and tell Phil he likes him over milkshakes? He’s fucked up. He dropped out of uni, he’s let his parents down, and he almost manipulated someone for money because he quit his job. On top of everything he’s casually dining with a drug dealer that he happens to want to fu-

“What it is?” Phil tilts his head and those beautiful blue eyes go wide with curiosity. 

“I don’t know,” Dan shakes his head and takes a sip to get out of saying anything more.

“Just let me know, okay?” Phil smiles and Dan remembers that if he wants anything to happen he should probably use his words. But now is not the time for that, he thinks.

“I’m going to help you, of course. And I think I know just how we can take him down,” Dan shakes the feelings invading his heart and lungs off and focuses on what’s important- keeping him and Phil safe.

Or as safe as he can.

The plan isn’t watertight. It’s finalized in the dead of the night with Dan half asleep in a pair of Phil’s pajamas and Phil wide-awake madly tying away at his laptop. They are both on Phil’s bed.

“So that’s it then, that’s the plan,” Dan yawns, “compile a list of fake leads, put a tracker hidden in the paper, you hide in my flat when Marcel’s rat arrives to get the list, track the paper back to Marcel, and show up unannounced with a .44 caliber. Bang bang.”

“That’s the plan,” Phil grins manically, “We’ve got one day to prepare.”

“Where are we getting the tracker?” Dan yawns again, his eyes fighting against gravity.

“I’ve got loads on every car associated with me, but those are quite big. I’m seeing if Louise has any body trackers. We’ll need some heavy bond paper,” Phil taps away at his keyboard.

“Or just seal it with your wax seal, put the tracker in that,” Dan suggests. “and then Marcel will know you really gave it to me.”

“You’re a genius!” Phil gasps, his fingers going into hyper-speed.

“I mean, not to brag, but I did find you based on a signature in less than a week,” Dan grins sleepily over at Phil.

“Shut up, you’ll steal my job,” Phil giggles, still riding the high of having a surefire plan to defeat his archenemy.

“I have no intention of stealing anything from you,” Dan says back, Phil’s laughter contagious in the two am vortex of Phil’s bedroom. 

“You’ve already stolen my lone wolf nature,” Phil closes his laptop with a satisfying click. 

“I think you gave that up pretty readily when you had my cooking,” Dan quips.

“Or maybe I’m simply using you for the food,” 

“As if, you never eat,” Dan says.

“Right,” Phil seems to sober up a little, “sorry about that, by the way.”

Dan knows he’s apologizing for the drugs.

“Do you ever consider quitting?” 

“It’s hard. They make living easier… I don’t really have any reason to stop,” Phil admits, putting his laptop on his side table and stretching his arms above his head.

“They’re hurting you,” Dan murmurs, sitting up against the headboard.

“I don’t really care about my wellbeing anymore,” Phil laughs but it holds no humor or light. 

“You could. You could get out of all of this, you know. You have enough money to live comfortably if you get a job as a secretary or something. You’re so smart,” Dan rambles, a lack of sleep destroying his verbal filter.

“It’s not that easy. I’ve got a felony on my record. What company would hire an accountant that got locked up for embezzling money?” Phil laughs, closing his eyes, “It’s a lost fight, Dan. This is my life.”

“You wouldn’t have to be an accountant. You could just have a regular job as a manager somewhere,” Dan amends, admiring Phil fully now that Phil’s eyes were closed and he couldn’t see.

“I’d be more miserable broke but not breaking the law,” Phil opens his eyes suddenly but Dan doesn’t look away.

“I guess you’re right. Maybe you could at least stop taking pills,” Dan mumbles the last bit.

“Maybe,” Phil seems uncomfortable, shifting on the bed. “are you ready for bed?”

Dan nods and yawns as if his body heard the suggestion and was begging for him to take it.

Phil pauses as if considering and then says, “you can sleep here, if you want.”

“Yeah, alright,” Dan smiles into the pillow he already stole. 

“I’m going to go shower, I’ll be back,” Phil says as his body slides off the bed. Dan gives a hum of contentment and listens to Phil padding around the room, and then entering the bathroom.

When Phil comes back he smells like soap and marijuana, a scent Dan recalls fondly from his younger years when his brother hung out with stoners. Probably was a stoner too, Dan realizes, despite what he told them.

He hadn’t seen Adrian in two years at least. 

Half asleep, he thinks about his family and how they’re coming to visit soon- hopefully after this whole mess has passed over. Maybe by then Phil will have confessed his love and they’ll be together as a couple. Maybe his parents will stop seeing him as a failure if this is the flat they come visit.

He snorts into the pillow as he tries to hold back a laugh. How ridiculous. 

“Bless you?” Phil says from somewhere near the bed. 

Dan laughs again, this time rolling onto his side and dragging his eyelids open. “Hey, come to bed.”

“Almost,” Phil smiles, clad only with a towel around his waist. 

Dan’s eyes trail over beautiful hips and then a tummy with a line of hair leading under the towel. Phil’s fit but pale and soft- Dan wants to touch him. He waits, however, until Phil is settled under the covers. 

It is then, and only then, that he reaches out a hand and searches for Phil’s. He finds it soon enough and laces their fingers together before tucking back into the pillow. 

“Goodnight, Phil,” Dan mumbles against the cotton.

“Goodnight, Dan,” Phil’s reply comes from somewhere far away, close in proximity but far from the unconscious land Dan is quickly slipping into. It comes from somewhere warm and bubbly; it’s as if Phil is underwater and they’re both mermaids deep in the ocean.   
That would be nice, he thinks before slipping into a deep sleep.

Dan, instead, dreams of being a big, ugly catfish in some random lake.


	12. Invictus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "[…] Darling I listen; and, for many a time  
> I have been half in love with easeful Death,"  
> —  John Keats, from Ode To A Nightingale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I typed this entire chapter with six stitches in my ring finger, I'm in pain. I love you guys for sticking with this!!

Friday arrives around the same time as the worst thunderstorm Dan has ever experienced. 

“You know how you told me you wanted a pet?” Dan glares at the assaulting flashes of light outside the transparent flat. 

“Yeah?” Phil blinks up at him from over his cup of coffee and laptop, still half-dead where he sits at the breakfast bar.

“Well its raining cats and dogs, now’s your chance,” Dan grins half-heartedly. It is difficult to try and be lighthearted right now. Anxiety settles deep in his chest; it carves itself a home between his second and third ribs and makes it hard to talk, hard to joke around.

Phil rolls his eyes but smiles, breaking his demeanor. 

The sky is twenty shades of muted greys and blacks despite it being nine in the morning; water slams in 30-minute segments against the windows. Dan doesn’t like today at all.

“I don’t like being on the fifteenth floor right now,” Dan says that instead and continues pacing, shoving his hands into his pockets. Not that the rain was his most pressing worry right now- not when at midnight the minion to a psychopath is going to show up and demand fake-

“Hey,” Phil frowns, “you look terrified. Everything okay?”

“No,” Dan laughs, worry infecting the sound. 

“Louise is dropping by soon with the body tracker, want me to ask her to stop by Nandos or something?” Phil is too calm.

“I think my landlord is going to kick me out,” Dan laughs somewhat hysterically. 

“I told you I’ll pay your rent,” Phil frowns. 

“Yeah but what about after that? What about ever again, I don’t know what I’m doing-,” 

“If you could be doing anything at all what would you be doing?” Phil asks suddenly, closing his laptop.

“Acting. I’d be an actor,” Dan confesses, the words coming out like an exhale. 

“I could see that,” Phil offers a hopeful smile. “Do that, then.”

“As if it’s that easy. People who attend the best acting schools in the world sometimes don’t make it- I’d be hopeless.” 

“Don’t say anything is hopeless,” Phil corrects, his words soft and firm, “worse comes to worst, you’re always welcome here.”

Louise arrives twenty minutes later. 

She’s beautiful, Dan notices as she hugs Phil and pushes a defiant strand of blonde hair behind her ear. She’s confident and firm, but delicate and funny. She doesn’t acknowledge Dan until after she’s given Phil the tracker and he’s nerding out over it on the kitchen counter. 

From what Dan can see, the tracker is about the size of half a coffee bean. It is black and hard plastic, and from the looks of it- perfect for their plans.

“Dan,” Louise seems to sense that he’s a nervous wreck and runs a soft hand down his cheek, “I want to apologize to you.”

“What?” Dan cocks his head and misses the warmth of Louise’s touch the second it’s gone.

“Be right back!” Phil interrupts, taking the tracker and bolting to his bedroom.

“Phil told me what happened and I just,” Louise pauses, her eloquent speech broken off. “I’m used to working with moral-void people and Phil is used to one night stands- save for a psychopath who’s still in love with him. I thought I suggested the right thing to you- I thought he’d enjoy the one night stand and you’d get rent payment and everything would be fine.”

“I-“ Dan pauses, a feeling filling his chest and it feels so much like missing his mum, and his ex girlfriend, and suddenly he regrets everyone he’s ever left behind. Every mistake he’s ever made. These pains gather like vines around his throat. 

“You don’t have to forgive me. I’m just glad Phil did. I think I just thought you were like everyone else who takes what they can get and leaves. You’re different,” Louise smiles sadly, “I’ve not seem him this sober since things were good with Marcel.”

“S-sober? He’s on pills, you know. Opiates, or whatever-“ Dan’s stumbling over his words and he feels like they’re leaking down his throat and pooling in his shoes. He’s in too deep suddenly, too deep in this mess, it’s his fault it’s his- 

“Yeah, but he used to be on way worse than that. Dan- don’t be so scared. He’s never let anyone get hurt before.”

She must notice the way his eyes glaze over with fear because suddenly she’s leading him to the sofa and pushing him back onto the white leather. Dan lets it happen, the blood roaring in his ears and forcing his thoughts out in hot tears that gather in his eyes. 

“Dan, Dan. Breathe. You’re going to be okay,” Louise’s voice is somewhere, somewhere above him in the stark white of this fucking, this fucking apartment- where is Phil? Where is-

“Dan?” Is that Louise’s voice? It sounds more like Sophie’s voice from the other night. Sophie- is she okay? She was so nice-

“Phil!” That’s definitely Louise now, but his eyes are clamped shut and he’s digging his nails into the sofa. It’s been so long since he’s had a panic attack, and now he’s having one in front of a near stranger. Where is-

He’s going to be killed tonight. And right now, looking past all this at the rest of his life- he’s just hoping to go quick. What is he going to do, how will he make money? His parents are coming to visit next weekend, next- god he’s such a disappointment- useless, hopeless, unlovable-

And then Phil is touching him.

Louise had her hand on his knee and it felt tight and fake, like a vapid promise of false certainty that dug into his kneecap and felt like fire. 

Phil’s hands are different. Firm, warm- they feel real. Phil is pressing lips to his forehead and Dan takes the first breath he’s inhaled in over two minutes. Phil doesn’t speak and Dan just tries to keep breathing. The tension in his fingers releases and he doesn’t want to open his eyes and see the half moon indentions he has left in the leather.

“Dan, it’s okay,” Phil breathes softly, somewhere warm and hovering above Dan. “I’ll watch over you, I’ll keep you safe.”

Dan could cry. He might be crying, actually, but he’s not quite sure. He focuses all his energy on calming the fuck down.

A door shuts somewhere in the apartment, he thinks Louise went away. Phil starts singing. 

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy, when skies are gray, you’ll never know dear, how much I love you, please don’t take my sunshine away,” Phil’s voice is neither in tune nor very melodic- but it’s nice. 

It’s really nice.

“I’m fine,” Dan mumbles, forcing his eyes open. 

He instantly regrets it. Phil is not two inches above him, his worried eyes looming. The roaring in his ears dies down and replaces itself with a hum of affirmation from Phil.

“I’m sorry,” Dan shakes his head, tries to ignore how badly he wants to pull Phil closer. 

“It’s okay to be scared,” Phil assures, his hands still on Dan’s arms.

“I’m fucking terrified. Not even about tonight so much as the rest of my life,” Dan can barely speak with Phil on top of him, so he pushes himself into a sitting position and runs a hand through his hair. 

“Hey, one day at a time, okay?” Phil looks into Dan’s eyes and Dan tries to bury himself there; they are grounding. “Let’s get through today before we work on tomorrow.”

“Right, okay,” Dan breathes, the forest fire of anxiety extinguished by the watery blue of Phil’s eyes. 

One day at a time.

The rain lets up for half an hour around seven that evening and Dan and Phil utilize the time to go to Dan’s apartment on Phil’s bike. The flat is still untidy, but a lack of possessions keeps the place at a decent level of clean. Dan realizes he hasn’t been here in almost four days- there’s nothing to be missed. 

“I’m just glad the power is still on,” Dan laughs humourlessly. 

There is a knock on the door twenty minutes later. 

“Jesus, Elliot, do you have cameras in my flat?” Dan glares at his landlord on the opposite side of the threshold. Phil is lingering in the distance behind Dan.

“I’ve tried to contact you for days, Dan!” Elliot growls, “Your grace period is coming to an end eventually, don’t even think about skipping town.”

“I’ve been with a friend,” Dan frowns, waving towards Phil.

“Good grief, at least you weren’t here disturbing everyone,” Elliot sneers.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Dan snaps back.

Elliot just raises his eyebrows and Dan knows exactly what it means. 

“We’re not sleeping together! Jesus, why does everyone think that?!” 

“I don’t care what you do in your free time, but I need to be paid, Howell,” Elliot keeps inching closer, like eventually Dan will relent and let him in.

“I have another month, I-“ 

“Actually, I’ll go ahead and pay it?” Phil offers meekly from behind Dan. Dan cringes internally, wishing Phil hadn’t said anything.

“Oh my God,” Elliot rolls his eyes, “fine, whatever.”

“Phil, I-“ Dan starts, but falters and presses himself against the wall.

“Check okay?” Phil has picked up his bag and he’s digging through it for his checkbook.

“No, notes or nothing. I don’t trust you,” Elliot glares.

“Tell me how you really feel,” Phil rolls his eyes. 

Dan instantly wants to laugh; he suddenly feels like Phil could probably make any situation better. It is an odd feeling to have about someone; it feels safe.

“I don’t have any notes, I’ll run to the bank,” Phil licks his lips, “Dan, I’ll be back in half an hour.” The words sound like something more, like Phil doesn’t want to leave Dan alone.

“I’ll back in half an hour,” Elliot echoes with narrowed eyes. He turns and struts off obnoxiously. 

“Okay,” Dan says. He tries to find the words that feel like water in his lungs but sound like ‘Don’t leave me’. Nothing comes out.

Phil leaves.

Dan showers; the near-boiling water seems to calm him down. He showered at Phil’s place yesterday night, but not in the rain-shower. It was something he secretly wanted to experience, but Phil simply offered him a towel and ushered him towards the other end of the house.

Dan huffs and shuts off the water in real time. 

He notices Phil’s absence as he pulls on fresh clothes. The curls can stay- Phil said he liked them. 

Phil. Phil, Phil Phil Phil.

Dan hates his brain, suddenly. 

He starts making dinner out of anxious idleness. All he’s got is egg noodles, carrots, and vegetable broth so he makes a sad noodle soup. He almost gasps in relief when there is a knock at the door.

“Phil?” Dan grins, opening the door to see a huffy Elliot.

“No. He’s not back yet, and he’s not going to come back. I’ve changed my mind- you have the money by Monday or you better be out in a week’s time. Goodnight, Dan,” Elliot finishes before Dan can even speak, turning and walking away.

Dan’s mouth is still slightly agape in the doorway, staring at his neighbor’s front door. He wants to cry. He wants to fucking take this place and shove it up Elliot’s ass, he wants to run away into the night and be anywhere else but here. 

It’s nine o’clock and Dan makes a mental note that he has three hours until Marcel’s rat shows up to kill him. Not- not necessarily, he reminds himself. Maybe he’ll just take the fake list with the tracker and leave, and then he can go to bed while Phil sends his men after Marcel. 

This time they’ll kill Marcel, like they almost killed Dan that first day. He’ll technically be an accomplice to a murder, great.

He pours himself a mug of soup and curls up on the sofa. Phil will be back soon, and everything will be okay. 

Phil still isn’t back by ten thirty. The soup simmers until Dan tires of stirring it and reluctantly turns the stove off.

This sofa in his home should feel warm and comfortable- but it doesn’t. Nothing is comfortable anymore; he wishes he were somewhere different and safe and these things would quell the anxiety stuffing itself into his chest.

Elliot was right- Phil probably isn’t coming back. 

Dan drags himself off the couch, exhausted and spacey with fear, and forces himself to start gathering everything he absolutely needs. Because suddenly this is his life, and suddenly he can’t stay here any longer.

If he could go back in time to when he made rent on time and worked at his shitty job and watched Netflix and hated everything- he would. He would in a heartbeat.

He thinks. He wants to think that, at least, but when he lets himself imagine a world where none of this had happened, his heart hearts in a different way. He thinks about how he and Phil played a computer game that Phil had made as a kid and how Phil’s eyes had lit up.

Phil is so intelligent and creative; Dan has never enjoyed talking to anyone as much as he enjoys talking to Phil. He has never had anyone thank him for cooking; nobody has ever swooned over his food like Phil does. 

Nobody has ever treated Dan like Phil does. 

Dan realizes that he’s no longer packing; he’s crumbled on the floor with tears running down his face dripping off his neck. This is it- he’s officially a fuckup. He’s lost the very last thing that was his and-

The doorbell buzzes.

Dan’s heart stutters as he scrambles to his feet and paws at his face. When he opens the door, he sees Phil.

And damn, does he see Phil. Because Dan never really believed that Phil wouldn’t return, he never believed Phil would hurt him. And damn if that isn’t a miracle on its own.

“Dan! I’m so sorry I’m late I- I had to stop and- have you been crying?” Phil cuts himself off, worry crossing his face.

Dan smiles, wild and reckless, and fists his hands in Phil’s shirt and envelopes him in a hug, pressing a grin into Phil’s shoulder. He lets out a wet laugh into Phil’s t-shirt.

“Dan?” Phil says softer, stepping inside with Dan attached to him. 

“Phil,” Dan exhales, like he just remembered he could breathe.

“You okay?” 

“Peachy, really,” Dan finally lets go, shoving a hand through his hair. “Thought you weren’t gonna come back.”

“Of course I was. I wouldn’t leave you here to deal with this. We have an hour, we need to make a game plan,” Phil immediately slips into planning mode and takes a step away from Dan.

It feels like too much space.

“The tracker is in the wax on the list, it’s on the counter. I’m going to hide in your closet until whoever it is takes the list and leaves. Then, we wait,” Phil explains quickly, “oh, and I have the money. Where is your landlord?”

“Elliot told me to have it by the end of the week,” Dan steps closer to Phil and steadies his breathing.

“Okay, brilliant. Let’s worry about this right now then. I have the tracker software on my Macbook, and we can track him to Marcel,” Phil says.

“Then what?” Dan braves.

“Well, then I go after him. Show up and, well, you know,” 

“Kill him. Kill a human,” Dan sinks onto the sofa and buries his head in his hands. “I can’t go with you.”

“I understand. I’ll deal with him and then come back and check on you, and then I’m going to go away for a bit,” Phil’s voice goes softer before he joins Dan on the sofa.

“How long is a bit?” Dan knows it’s nearing midnight and this is the least crucial aspect to his wellbeing, but it’s suddenly something Dan needs to know. 

“I-“ Phil hesitates, but not with uncertainty. No, the corners of his mouth turn down and he looks like he wishes he didn’t know what to say. The words arrive soon enough however and Phil says, “maybe a month. I was planning on seeking out my brother- maybe tying up some loose ends.”

“What am I supposed to do here?” Dan frowns over at his partner in crime. 

“Lie low, go visit your family, maybe.”

“They’re coming next weekend, Phil. I have to pretend like I have any aspect of my life together,” Dan feels the familiar panic well up in his chest.

“Shh, Dan, come on. One day at a time. Let’s get this over with,” Phil puts a comforting hand on Dan’s back and it feels warm and comforting.

“One day at a time,” Dan echoes, tightening his resolve and putting a tentative hand over Phil’s. 

They work quietly. Phil preps the letter and double checks the wax seal. Dan heats up a mug of the soup he made for Phil and leaves it behind his wardrobe where Phil is to hide. He kneels on the carpet and presses his lips to the warm ceramic before he puts the mug against the wall.

When there are twenty-five minutes to midnight, Phil leans against the sofa and smiles. 

“All you have to do is act terrified and hand over the letter,” Phil repeats for the umpteenth time. 

“Right. Won’t be acting,” Dan nods as he messes with the letter. 

“I’m going to hide now,” 

“Right,” Dan nods too quickly.

“Hey,” Phil murmurs, crossing over to Dan in three strides. He wraps his arms around Dan and squeezes once.

“Hi,” Dan breathes into Phil’s neck. 

“It’s going to be fine. Anyone else would have high tailed it out of here in two minutes. You’re so brave, I’m so glad I met you,” Phil keeps talking, like he’s trying to convince Dan to stop shaking. Like he’s trying to inject words like Novocain under Dan’s skin and make this anxiety dissipate like an exhale. 

Dan focuses less on the words and more on the way Phil’s arms don’t let up. More on the way he still smells like coffee and laundry detergent and how he should probably shave because his chin keeps hitting Dan’s shoulder and it’s prickly. 

“You’re prickly,” Dan pulls back a little, barely inches from Phil’s face.

“I’m sorry,” Phil looks genuinely distressed and for a second Dan forgets everything that is happening and desperately wants to kiss the look off Phil’s face.

So he does.

And for a second, he swears time slows down. 

Phil doesn’t taste like he did the first time, what feels like ages ago now. Then he tasted like wine, like toothpaste and confidence and like a stranger. Now, he tastes like Phil. He feels like warmth and structure and tastes like Phil- like Phil.

His head spins but he feels grounded unto this earth and these blue eyes. 

They kiss until Dan pulls back and Phil’s eyes are glassy and they stare at one another until Phil points helplessly at the hallway and says “I’m going to, I’m gonna go. Hide. Right.”

And Dan nods and swallows hard and sits down on the couch feeling about as pumped full of adrenaline as he could be. And he waits.

It seems a bit anticlimactic, truthfully, sitting in this quiet apartment waiting for someone to show up when all he wants to do is go back to Phil. 

But this is it, he remembers. This is it. Phil is going to kill his crazy ex and then disappear and Dan’s parents will come and everything will be fine, maybe, or as close to fine as-

There is a knock on the door. 

Dan wonders if anyone in the drug business knows what a doorbell is. 

His heart pounds as he abandons the letter on the counter and musses his hair, trying out a casual smile before opening the door. 

It’s Chris. 

Dan remembers the name from the way it was seared into him that night- that night at the bar. Fucking Crossroads. Chris has a mop of brown hair and a smirk on his face as Dan takes him in.

“Hi, Chris,” Dan frowns, “Um-“

“Before you speak, Danny boy, look at this,” Chris pulls the hand he had behind his back out and in his hand is some sort of black pistol. 

If any more adrenaline leaks into Dan’s veins he is about to pass the fuck out.

Dan, wisely, says nothing. 

“I came here on the orders of one Marcel- you may know him. I’m here to retrieve something. Tell me what I’m here for, and then say no more.”

Dan fights every fight or flight instinct he has and says, “Ripto’s list of clients.”

“Correct. However, you’ve been played. I, unfortunately,” Chris laughs, “cannot tell you what the boss has planned. You will, however, come with me.”

Dan opens his mouth to respond but before he can Chris shakes his head. 

“I’m not stupid. I know he’s probably here,” Chris sneers, “so you’re going to go back inside, act like you’re giving me the letter and then follow me out the door. If you say anything out of turn I have permission to kill you, fair warning.”

Dan wants to scream, but he nods with terrified eyes and turns to walk into the lounge. 

“So,” Chris says his voice a tad too loud, “this is everything, right?” 

Dan picks up the letter and messes with it, his brain struggling to function. “Yep, everything.”

“Okay then, because if it’s not boss will definitely get revenge,” Chris rambles, and Dan can’t help but think he’s a terrible actor.

“I’ll even show you,” Dan says suddenly, an idea popping into his head. He drags his thumbnail through the wax of the tracker and opens the letter, using his forefinger to shove the wax deeper under his nail. Thank god he hadn’t cut them in a couple weeks.

Chris takes the list and shrugs, saying, “Okay good. I’ll be on my way, then.”

Dan glances at the hallway and wonders what Phil is thinking, if he’s drank the soup or if he’s eaten anything else today. If Phil will be okay without him.

He follows Chris out the door with a gun to his side and tears burning in his eyes. He’s never felt so helpless. 

The door clicks shut and Chris motions for Dan to lock it, so Phil will hear it and think Dan has locked it after Chris.

Dan does so with shaking hands and then pockets the keys. 

“Alright then, let’s go,” Chris leads Dan at gunpoint to a black car and shoves him in the back seat. “You can speak now, I guess.”

Dan breaks into dry, hysterical sobs, without really meaning to.

“Okay, not that, shut up, goddamn,” Chris pokes him with the gun. 

Dan holds a hand over his own mouth and sobs into it once, twice, and then one last time before leaning back against the seat of the car and taking a deep breath. “Am I going to die?”

“Probably, or wish you were dead,” Chris shrugs, “he didn’t seem to care much if I brought you alive or not.”

“Where are we going?” Dan digs little half-moon marks into his thighs over his jeans.

“This aint’ fucking twenty questions. You’ll see. Now shut up.”  
The car ride is long. The driver pulls into a lot after a solid half hour and the car struggles over thick gravel before stalling. 

“Okay, blindfold time,” Chris notes, pulling a dingy rag out of his pocket and fastening it over Dan’s face. Then, he bounds Dan’s wrist with a zip tie. 

Dan lets it happen with no struggle, and then forces his legs to work as he’s yanked out of the car and walked about fifty meters until his feet no longer pass over gravel. With grass up to his ankles, he is stopped.

“Hello Daniel,” A familiar voice says from close by. 

“Marcel,” Dan says.

“Yes. Good boy, remembering me,” Marcel laughs, “I see my plan worked.”

“Apparently,” Dan sneers.

“Oi, careful. There’s still a gun to your back,” 

“I genuinely don’t think you’d kill me after getting me this far,” Dan rolls his eyes, despite them being hidden under the rag. The fear of anticipation drains from him and all he feels is anger, flooding through him like fire and leaking out of the tips of his fingers.

“Is that so? Dan, when are you going to realize this isn’t about you?” Marcel snaps, his voice suddenly closer.

“It’s about Phil, right? Everything is about him. So why the fuck am I here?” Dan scoffs. Metal is prodded into his hip.

“If fishing is all about the fish, why the fuck do you bring worms on the boat? You’re a gross, wiggling worm, Dan. You’re bait- a worthless human I found and stuck and waited-“ Marcel laughs, “and it worked!”

“I’m- bait. For Phil,” Dan presses his fingers together and feels the hard tracker digging into the skin under his thumbnail.

“The way to destroy Phil is through his heart. It’s his only weak point- trust me, I know. I was in love with him, Dan. We were unstoppable. We were kings! Kings of this city! And then he fucking broke my heart, so I resolved to break him.” 

“Chocolate and rom-coms not good enough for you?” Dan feels the anger gather in his chest and he wants to scream, he wants to kick and fight and murder Marcel with his bare hands.

“Be quiet, fuckass. I tried everything. I tried to steal our clients back, I tried to turn people against him. He’s just too goddamn nice, with his houseplants and faux innocent charm. So I did my research. I needed a twink, someone with nothing to lose who would fall like putty into Phil’s hands. And then- I’d destroy him. Destroy Phil like he tried to destroy me,” Marcel stops speaking as a cold wind blows through the air. 

“How’d you find me?” Dan braves, despite the cold adding to his ceaseless trembling. 

“I did my research,” Marcel says in an offhand way, “I found your Facebook. Single, young, lives alone. Be careful what you post online. Nico, still loyal to me bless his heart, made sure to pretend like he wrote the flat number wrong. Chris baited you right to Phil at the bar, and the ball started rolling. Here we are, my dear.”

“You know where he lives, why didn’t you just go kill him there? Anything else besides this?” Dan pleads, the realization that none of this was coincidence settling in his mind like poison. 

“I told you, I had to get him attached to you first. You can’t destroy someone who has nothing to lose,” Marcel’s voice leaks with annoyance.

“Okay, you win. Kill me,” Dan resigns, tired of being used as a chess piece. Tired of being scared, tired of being alive.

“You wish,” Is all Marcel counters.

Phil doesn’t care about him like Marcel thinks he does. Dan is going to die and Phil is going to not care, and nobody will be happy. Maybe Phil, when he kills Marcel. Dan hopes Phil is happy.

In the lingering silence, Dan hears a distinctive motorcycle.

“Oh, look who decided to arrive,” Marcel cackles as the roar of an engine cuts off.

“Where is he?!” Phil’s voice demands as Dan hears the crunch of gravel under his feet.

“Oh, Philip, hi,” Marcel’s voice changes. It lowers to something more warm and genuine than Dan had believed possible; it echoes through the yard like sarcasm but it’s dripping with something Dan only interprets as fondness. 

“You bastard, where is he?!” Phil yells again, and Dan doesn’t dare speak. It must be dark enough where Dan can’t be seen, or maybe somebody is in front of him.

“Calm down, he’s right over there. And there’s a gun to his back, so don’t try and help him,” Marcel sounds impatient now. 

“You knew I’d show up- how? Did he tell you about the tracker? Dan? Are you in on this?” Phil’s voice is laced with an anger Dan has never heard.

“I know you, Phil, better than he ever has or ever will. Better than anyone, actually. I knew how you’d respond; I knew you’d show up in the most convenient location to kill someone,”

“Kill me, then, I don’t care,” Phil instantly counters. 

Dan blanches under the blindfold. The thought of Phil dying here and now before him makes his knees buckle. For a second his thoughts swim in his head and heart and he wishes he had a wall to lean against.

“I think he’s going to faint,” Chris speaks up for the first time behind him.

“Fuck. Sit him down,” Marcel waves at Chris.

“This is so ridiculous, what do you want from me?” Phil pleads, “Don’t hurt him. He never asked for any of this-“

“Fuck you, Phil. I planned this- I hand picked this loser for you. I hoped you wouldn’t fall for him, I had hoped you’d prove me wrong. You like any warm body- admit it. You never loved me, you don’t love him. 

You keep him because he’s cute and young and then you’ll corrupt him like you do everyone else,” Marcel spits, but he sounds on the verge of tears.

“That’s not true,” Phil says, quieter, “I loved you. I did, I promise you that.”

Marcel sniffs and there is a beat of silence. “You did?”

“Of course I did. But if we’re being honest, I felt like I was alone when I was with you. You started caring about the drugs and the lifestyle more than you cared about me. Dan- Dan takes care of me. He cooks soup for me and listens and even cares enough to want me to get clean,” Phil says.

“I loved you,” Marcel breaks.

“I know, but not the way I needed to be loved,” Phil steps forward and Dan knows that because the crunch of gravel is the only noise for a few seconds.

“Does he love you the way you need to be loved?” The way Marcel asks the question breaks Dan’s heart. He isn’t sure he wants to hear the answer, for either Marcel’s or his own sake.

Phil hesitates, but then nods. Then, so Dan can hear, he says, “Yes. He does.” 

“Okay. I’m sorry, Phil. I love you. I can’t get past that,” Marcel speaks at last. “I can change, I can love you better, I can fuck you, I can-“

“If you really love me you’ll leave me alone,” Phil says firmly. 

“That’s- not how this works,” Marcel says shakily. 

“Fuck, put down the gun,” Phil says.

What Dan can’t see is Marcel with tears running down his face pointing a .45 caliber gun at Phil, who is less than a two meters away. What Dan can’t see is the way, despite this, Phil keeps glancing over at Dan. 

What Dan can’t see is Phil with his arms up in surrender, backing away. He can’t see the way the gun shakes violently in Marcel’s hands, all he can see is black.  
He can hear, however, but all he hears is Phil rambling on that this isn’t the way it has to be, this isn’t how it has to end. 

He can hear Marcel sobbing.

And then all he can hear is a single, penetrating gunshot.

Then, silence.


	13. Cataclysm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Can you hate someone for what they have done, but still love them for whom they had been?"  
> \- Jodie Picoult

The gunshot pierces through the air and leaves a sharp ringing in Dan’s eardrums. The sudden reality of the situation falls over his head like a wave of nausea and he collapses forward onto the cold ground before him. As his knees collide with the cold dirt his stomach lurches deep inside of him. 

He’s vomiting before he can register that nobody is holding him back anymore; his hands still tied behind his back leave him helpless. 

“Dan!” There’s Phil’s voice.

Phil. Phil. More vomit. Phil.

Not dead.

“Dan, come on,” Phil is untying Dan’s blindfold with his cold thin fingers running over Dan’s cheekbones. Those same fingers work swiftly at the ties on Dan’s wrists and within seconds Dan has control back.

“Phil-“ Dan manages, his throat suddenly feeling incredibly dry and scratchy. The world dances around him, dark and spotty.

“Dan,” Phil urges again, tugging Dan up by his armpits.

Dan fights it initially. He can’t seem to stand up straight without the world spinning, he can’t process the fact that Phil is helping him so Marcel must be- Marcel must be-

“Come on, we need to leave. Marcel shot himself, the cops will be here any minute, everyone else is already gone,” Phil sounds desperate, anxious, and somehow still impeccably rational despite the situation. 

And Dan trusts him, despite everything, so he harnesses the very last of his energy and forces his feet to do the thing they’re meant to do and fucking run. He and Phil get to Phil’s bike in fewer than five minutes; ten minutes later they’re on some back road speeding away.

Dan stays tucked into Phil’s back, ignoring the waves of nausea in favor of focusing on the ice-cold midnight air stinging his arms. He’s freezing, but he simultaneously feels like his skin is ablaze. This is not something he signed up for- not in any way. 

Phil talked a big game about breaking the law, dealing and taking drugs, and even killing people, but seeing it with his own eyes was too much. 

Too much.

He doesn’t even know where they’re headed.

The drive ends over forty minutes later in the car park of some run-down inn with outside doors to nine rooms.

Phil cuts the engine but doesn’t budge from the seat, pausing only to rest his head on the dash.

“Dan,” Phil says softly, and Dan swears he hasn’t heard a single other word out of Phil’s mouth in the past few hours. 

“Where are we?” Dan breathes from behind him, unwilling to remove himself from the warmth of Phil’s back. 

“Crater Inn,” Phil finally slides off the bike, tugging his warmth away from Dan’s embrace, “It’s where I came earlier when I left your flat. I realized that I’d set no plan for after and I decided that this would be a good hiding place for a day or two.”

“A day or two? You said you’d be gone a lot longer,“ Dan argues, shoving a hand through his damp curls as he tries to inconspicuously wipe the tears from his windblown face.

“The key to the chase is to never stop moving. I’d have stayed here for a day or two and then gone to Manchester for a bit. Maybe Bath, or visited friends over in Brighton,” Phil looks upset. “But you’re here now.”

“I’m fucking sorry,” Dan snarls, leaning over as if to be sick again before his body reminds him that there’s nothing left to come back up.

“No- it’s not that. I just need to-“ Phil takes a steadying breath, “work out what to do. Give me a minute.”

“Can we go inside?” 

“Yeah. Right,” Phil says, “Let’s go.”

The room is pretty barren, but the hotel room staples are there as well as a single bed and a duffle bag by the floor. Phil immediately goes in the bathroom and Dan is left to sit on the bed and admire the hideous pattern of the wallpaper.

In another time, he might sleep. Might do anything else, actually. But right now his blood feels like poison in his veins and he still feels sick and dizzy to the point of serious concern. 

So he sits and he watches the wallpaper and the way the occasional car headlights filter in through the blinds and he pretends like he didn’t just witness a suicide. 

Phil comes out twenty minutes later and motions towards the door. “I’m going to go smoke this, want to come?”

“Smoke what?” Dan asks dumbly.

“It’s, uh, a hand pipe. Of pot.” Phil coughs. 

“No,” Dan says softly, “are you taking pills?”

“Might,” Phil shrugs, like he definitely will but for some reason he cares what Dan thinks about him so he doesn’t say so. 

Dan thinks that’s a little odd, but it’s the last worry on his mind as he falls back onto the stiff bed and waits for the door to shut behind Phil. It’s a poignant slam. 

Maybe he could fall asleep and Phil would work out what to do; he could somehow figure out what should happen next and how they can accomplish it. But that would be too easy, too kind of the universe. So he stares at the ceiling and ignores the steady pounding of his heart.

Dan misses Phil in the short time he is on the walkway outside, falling into weird bouts of sleep that make him imagine Phil running away and leaving him here. 

He jolts out of sleep for the forth or fifth time when the door opens and shuts again. He feigns sleep as Phil joins him in the bed, tugging back the duvet to slip under. 

Phil smells like burning, like marijuana and musky cologne and sweat. Dan still shuffles closer, his half-asleep mind fighting the urge to cling to Phil for dear life.

Just as he begins to slip off for good, he hears Phil whisper something. 

“I’m so sorry,” Phil murmurs, his voice a faint trace of what it is in daylight. Dan does nothing, says nothing, but his eyes burn and he tries harder to sleep. 

\--

Morning light brings with it no sense of security. Instead, it brings a terrible moment of peace and confusion before Dan remembers what happened and he jolts upward. Unknowingly, he drags Phil up with him and the older man wakes up with a sharp gasp. Dan hadn’t realized they were intertwined.

“Fuck, sorry,” Dan watches Phil’s face flicker through the same emotions of calm and then confusion.

“Ah,” Phil shuffles until he’s sitting up as well and then laughs. “Welcome to my life.”

“This fucking sucks,” Dan says, the daylight and lack of police raiding the inn keeping him calmer.

“Yeah, it does. I told you you didn’t want to be involved with me,” Phil frowns.

Dan decides now is a better time than any and tells Phil everything Marcel told him, from tipping off one of Phil’s men to his flat after stalking him on Facebook, all the way to Marcel planning to destroy him. 

Dan barely finishes before he’s crying, tears of fear stream down his face before Phil has a chance to respond.

“Fuck, I can’t- I can’t believe he- he dragged you into this,” Phil closes his eyes, wraps his legs closer to his body, “Dan, I can’t apologize enough for this. I promise you, I will do whatever it takes to get you back home and safe from harm.”

“I-“ Dan sniffs, “it’s not your fault. He was insane.”

“He was,” Phil agrees, but his voice is sad.

“But he’s gone now, right?” Dan’s voice is pleading Phil to confirm what he already believes is the truth, but he needs to hear it again.

“Right. Gone, forever,” Phil says softy. 

“Did you really love him?” Dan realizes suddenly, the words out of his mouth before he can stop himself.

“Yeah,” Phil leans back against the headboard, his eyes closed and his voice unsteady.

“I’m sorry,” Dan says.

They sit in silence until Phil composes himself. 

If the calm would allow, Dan would be happy spending the next week sitting in this bed talking to Phil. His bones ache for the quiet calm of being tucked away from the world.  
But he very rarely gets what he wants.

“Please don’t get more involved in this life,” Phil begs suddenly, but he can’t make eye contact with Dan.

“Too late,” Dan forces a breathy laugh.

“No. Don’t say that.” 

“What do you want from me?” Dan asks instead of arguing back.

“I want to make things better, somehow. Because this was my fault and I really like you and think you deserve better than this, than me,” Phil admits, and then as if unable to bear his confession he slides out of bed and tugs back on his jeans from the day before.

“That’s ridiculous,” Dan counters, fear sparking in his chest at the idea of Phil abandoning him. He couldn’t handle that, not after everything. 

“No it’s not,” Phil shakes his head as he fixes his hair in the mirror, “You could get out. Let me be your witness protection program.”

“No! Phil, shut the fuck up!” Dan snaps, standing and crossing to Phil in two steps, “I’m done, I’m absolutely done, being told what to do. How to act, how to exist, what I should or shouldn’t get myself into. I’m good, okay? I’ve seen some shit, I’m here for the long haul, okay?”

Phil stands still for a moment, his face unreadable. By the time he speaks, a heavy weight sits in the pit of Dan’s stomach and eats away at him.

Phil takes a breath and says, “Is there anything I could say to get you to walk away?”

Dan doesn’t expect this. He doesn’t expect Phil to be so desperate to get rid of him. The realization sits hard and he has to swallow to keep himself from getting choked up.

“Only if you promise me you’ll stop taking pills and smoking weed. And you let me use your apartment for when my parents come next weekend,” Dan scoffs, putting things on the plate that he thinks Phil won’t say yes to in any capacity. Playing his cards safe.

Not safe enough.

“Okay,” Phil nods, “fine. I’ll say yes to both and then you’ll leave and get some other job and some other apartment and never think about this again?”

Dan feels his heartbeat in his ears, his throat is tight and his head feels too heavy but he decides to be selfless in a rare moment of clarity and nods blankly.

“Okay. Then it’s a deal,” Phil coughs.

“Wait-“ Dan stammers, shaking his head as if his mind could be cleared that way, “Terms and conditions. First of all, I want you to be clean entirely before I leave you alone. Second, I want you to pretend to be my boyfriend when my parents come visit.”

“Um,” Phil squints, “okay. Sure. But I would like you to see a therapist, as well, then.” 

“With what money?” 

“Mine. I’ll pay for it,” Phil crosses his arms, “and you can’t skip out for at least six months.”

“Okay, fine,” Dan says softly, surprised at Phil’s request. “Yeah. So there we go, it’s a deal.”

They shake on it, and their hands linger for a minute until Dan retracts his hand. Their skin slides together until the warmth of Phil’s palm is replaced by the musty, cold air of the room.

“So what now?” Dan asks, but his voice feels intrusive.

“Want to go to an arcade?” Phil suggests, and Dan almost forgets that he and Phil have a friendship beneath all of this. 

A friendship rooted in common interests, Dan’s cooking, and Phil’s spontaneity. A friendship built on weird circumstance, weird everything. 

“Yeah,” Dan agrees, unsure if he has the energy to argue anything anymore, but also glad to be doing something simple and legal.

“Good,” Phil echoes, absently starting to gather things into bags.

They leave almost everything in the inn to be ready at a moment’s notice and take only wallets and the clothes on their backs to the arcade. 

It’s cool. It’s very American, with bulky Pac Man and Galaxian machines placed among dozens of other machines upon weird, navy blue carpet. They end up spending all day in the strange, liminal space arcade in the middle of some random town. Some random life.

Dan waits for Phil to finish his go on the surfer simulator and thinks about life, and everything his life is and isn’t. Everything his parents wanted for him, everything he wanted for himself. 

He thinks about his old coworkers, and his parents. He’ll impress them, in Phil’s fancy penthouse apartment with Phil as his boyfriend. It’ll all be a lie, but it’s much better than them knowing the truth- at this point the truth is dangerous to even himself. Because this is what his life has become, somehow.

Maybe Phil doesn’t believe him- maybe Phil would rather feel like Dan wants to kick and scream his way out of this toxic livelihood. But Dan doesn’t- and that’s the kicker. He likes the thrill, the way the demeanor changes when Phil walks into a room. He likes Phil, too, a lot. 

He misses the way Phil’s lips tasted and the way they held hands in bed the other day- a day that seems like years ago now.

Dan can’t place the way he doesn’t miss his cell phone, or his bed, or anything at all when he’s with Phil. Hell, he would be content in this arcade for days. He would have been content in bed forever. He would be happy anywhere with Phil, he realizes as Phil finishes his turn and hops off the machine triumphantly, with his hands in the air. 

Maybe that’s what love is, the back of his mind suggests. Maybe there really are just two types of love in this world- the love we deserve and the love we get. Maybe Phil deserves to be loved with sleepy smiles and homemade meals and Dan deserves to be loved with deep blue eyes and protection.

Maybe Phil just got love from a crazy ex who could never accept that he couldn’t get the love he wanted. Maybe Dan just gets this contractual love. Maybe the world is terrible, and nothing matters at all.

With nothing quite left to lose, Dan laughs and steps forward to press their lips together.

For a minute, Dan pretends he and Phil live alone in this arcade, and nothing else exists.

No people, no drugs, 

No contracts.


	14. Resuscitate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She taught me the agony of the damned and  
> the useless."  
> — Charles Bukowski, “On Love”

It’s like learning how to walk again.

Phil ignores his phone for three days. Dan ignores his phone for three days.

They go back to Phil’s place on Tuesday evening. Dan leans back on the motorbike, now apathetically accustomed to the way Phil disregards speed limits, and watches the city blur past them.

Despite everything, the woman at the front desk barely nods at them as Phil pushes past the doors to the elevator. The code on the door is one Dan no longer recognizes, but Phil no longer tries to shield it from view.

There is a man on Phil’s couch. Dan jumps a little when he walks into the lounge and sees him, but Phil slides his keys across the counter and grins.

“Hey Wirrow,” Phil says, tossing his bag onto the ground. 

Dan hesitates mid-step. Wirrow? What kind of name is that?

“Hey Ripto,” Wirrow stands, “Bryony is asleep in one of the guest rooms, you want me to wake her up?”

“Yeah, Dan and I need to work on some business. Thanks for watching over the place,” Phil says.

“Any idea what happened to Marcel?” Wirrow’s voice lowers, as if Dan is some outsider who shouldn’t hear these kinds of things. 

“Yeah, no. Nobody would report a guy like that missing- and when they find him dead in a field with only his fingerprints on the revolver, well. You know. Some low life shot himself, who cares,” Phil shrugs, shakes his shoulders a little as if to physically brush it off.

“You care,” Wirrow says, catching Phil by the shoulder and turning him around, “You okay?”

“Fine, alright? Leave it. Thanks for watering the plants, but I really need to be alone with Dan right now,” Phil frowns, his voice deepening to something else.

Wirrow doesn’t seem phased by the sudden harshness, giving Phil an assuaging smile before heading towards the bedrooms. 

Phil waits until his friend has left the lounge before throwing himself onto one of the white couches. Dan watches from a few steps away.

“My landlord left me a voicemail,” Dan says softly.

“And?” Phil opens his eyes but stays put.

“I have to get everything out by Friday. I’m officially evicted,” Dan finishes, a sort of hysterical laughter bubbling from his chest.

“Let’s do that tomorrow,” Phil closes his eyes again, nonchalance running together with exhaustion, “I’m tired.”

“Let’s? You want to help me get my stuff? I’m not even sure what to do with it, I mean there’s not much but still, I-“ 

“Dan. Calm down, please. You said you wanted me a month sober and I need to make sure you follow through with seeing a therapist for at least a month. Live here until you find a new place,” Phil sounds irritated, on the verge of sleep.

“Fine. Fine, thank you,” Dan nods to himself.

At this point Wirrow and his girlfriend Bryony appear from the side of the house with the bedrooms and take brief note of Phil asleep on the couch.

“Rough week, I take it?” Bryony laughs, unaware of the severity of the situation.

“You have no idea.” 

They leave without much more of a goodbye, and then he and Phil are alone.

“Hey,” Dan sets himself down on the opposite couch. 

Phil neither opens his eyes nor shifts, his hands still by his sides.

“Hey,” Dan whispers, softer, “I’m fucking terrified. I don’t know what I’m doing or what I’m headed towards. I haven’t changed clothes in three days. My landlord is kicking me out. But even after everything, even after everything,-“ Dan pauses and collects himself, his voice the softest whisper, “I’m having so much fun. And I know that’s fucked up, but I feel important, I feel wanted. And I don’t want this to end.” 

Phil’s mouth falls open and his breaths turn into a patterned exhale, the softest snore. Dan’s eyes watch Phil’s chest rise and fall; eyes locked on the way his t-shirt clings to his ribs. 

“Goodnight,” Dan resigns. There is no response.

The clock reads 01:02, the city lights far below the massive windows do not stop, the taxis swerve and the people stumble happily, drunkenly, miserably below. Darkness envelops the flat as Dan walks around and flicks off the lights Wirrow neglected. He tugs a throw blanket over Phil and walks to the rain shower. 

He twists the knob until the water is falling, ethereal and thick in the near-darkness. Dan undresses and steps into the artificial downpour. He fixes his eyes on the window, feeling exposed and venerable even miles above the streets of London. 

He’d get his stuff tomorrow, move into a spare room, go grocery shopping, and call his mom. Talk about their visit this weekend. This weekend. Three days to prepare. 

He massages Phil’s shampoo into his hair, some colour-safe expensive coconut scented bullshit that does the same damn thing his usual two pound shampoo does. But it runs down his back and makes the entire shower smell of Phil.

Dan reaches between his legs and tugs at himself almost mindlessly. It feels brave, doing this where Phil could look over at any moment. Anyone down below with super eyesight could look up and see him pleasuring himself in the middle of the night alone in a fancy penthouse. 

He finishes without a sound, the water feeling colder all of a sudden. His legs feel tired and his mind swims as he rinses himself clean. 

He pulls on one of Phil’s shirts and boxers and almost climbs into Phil’s bed, but he does not. Instead, he retreats back to the couch across from Phil and curls up in Phil’s duvet.

Together, but apart, they sleep. 

“Hey, your mum is calling,” Phil’s voice is somewhere above Dan.

“Eh?” Dan blinks into a brightly lit lounge, drool smeared across his face and arm. 

“Mum. On the phone. Answer.” Phil shoves the phone into Dan’s hand and Dan answers. 

“Mum, hi-“ Dan clears his throat and puts it on speakerphone.

“Daniel!” Mother Howell’s voice crackles in.

“M’sorry, I just woke up. How are you?”

“Just woke up? It’s near eleven! No work today? I feel like I haven’t heard from you in ages.”

Dan huffs and Phil laughs softly. Dan almost doesn’t respond, eyes focused on Phil in pajamas leaning against the kitchen counter sipping coffee.   
“Yeah, uh, no work. Also got off this weekend to see you and dad.”

“Oh goody, I’m glad you remembered about that. We should be there late Friday evening, do you still have that fold out sofa? We were thinking you wouldn’t mind giving us your bed for the night-“ She rambles on, Dan repeatedly opening and closing his mouth as his chances to speak escape.

“Mu-“

“Our show is Saturday evening but we would love to take you out for brunch on Saturday, you’re welcome to invite a friend if you-“

“MUM!” Dan interjects, sitting up on the sofa. “I got a new flat, and there’s a guest room in this one. I’ll send you the address and I’ll see you Friday, alright?” 

“Oh? A guest room? Say, where is this new flat? Is it in the bad part of-“

“Friday, alright? I’ll see you then. Bye mum,” Dan says.

“Daniel- alright, alright. Eat some vegetables! Send me the addr-“ 

Dan hangs up the phone.

“She doesn’t sound so bad,” Phil’s voice is littered with empathy.

“She’s using me as a free airbnb,” Dan rolls his eyes, “she doesn’t care about me.”

“You assume the worst in people,” Phil says.

“You assume the best. I don’t know which one of us is in the wrong here.”

“Well I’m always right, so,” Phil grins.

“Okay Mr. Right, I’ve got a flat to evict myself from. Care to help?” Dan pushes himself off the sofa and stretches his limbs far above his head.

“Nope. I’ll be here playing Fortnite.”

“Fine, I’ll call Simon. He’ll help me,” Dan huffs, wrapping himself in a duvet burrito as he marches off to Phil’s room.

“He’s in California,” Phil calls after him, mouth half full of toast.

“Your mum’s in California!” 

“Might be,” Phil says softly to himself, the smile on his face dropping. Dan barely hears this, punctuated by the soft slam of the bedroom door. 

Dan knows Phil’s dad died and that Phil has a brother he isn’t close to, but that is about all he knows of the Lesters. Dan isn’t close to his parents or his brother, but at least he could call them when he wanted to. 

At least.

Dan and Phil rent a car. 

It’s big and black and shiny in the afternoon sun. 

“The sofa is mine, the bed isn’t,” Dan explains as he uses his key for what might be the last time.

“Any other furniture?” 

“Nope. The barstools were here when I got here,” the door creaks open and Dan lays eyes on his flat for the first time in a week.

It’s dusty and small but it has been Dan’s for over two years and it makes him feel safer, even now. He lets himself collapse into the soft, worn fabric of the sofa. Before he can turn back to Phil he feels a heavy weight collapse slowly on top of him. 

Dan giggles, the sound muffled by the pillows.

“Hey,” Phil grins into Dan’s shoulder.

“Hi,” Dan tries to move his head back but he can’t. 

They lie there for a few minutes.

“I have to go, but I’ll be back,” Phil says suddenly, and Dan is suddenly glad Phil can’t see his face fall.

“Why?” 

“Work. I said I’d be back, just work on sorting everything and I’ll be back to load it up and then we can go back to my flat,” Phil is dragging himself off the sofa and Dan hates the lack of body weight on top of him.

“Um,” Dan is scrambling to his feet now, barely catching Phil’s hand before the door cuts him off.

“Yes?” Phil turns back, his energy different now. He seems suddenly distant, somehow far from whatever world he was just in. 

“Just… be safe, okay? Come back soon,” Dan wants to stay something else. He wants to beg Phil to stay, whimper and whine and cry and pitch a fit. 

“Yeah,” Phil gives a tight lipped smile and tugs his hand away, disappearing through the door before Dan can even process what happened. 

Sharp reminders of the fear he felt when he Phil abandoned him hours before the Marcel ordeal shudder through him. He feels the loneliness and the uncertainty weigh firmly on his chest; the weight settles in and stunts his breathing. 

“Fuck, Phil,” Dan buries his head in his hands. 

Slowly, because this is what Phil wants him to do and this is what he needs to do if he’s going to hold together any sort of composure, he forces himself to stand. He looks at the few boxes they gathered from the liquor store and starts to empty the kitchen drawers. 

He ends up asleep on the sofa hours later; a half full handle of crown sits on the carpet by his head. The bile stain from a month ago sits centimeters away. From somewhere outside a siren sounds. 

“Mm?” Dan blinks into consciousness, mind still hazy from the alcohol. “Phil?” He murmurs, his hands reaching out into the darkness like a little kid. 

Phil is not there. Dan doesn’t check the time; he doesn’t care. He closes his eyes tightly again and openly sobs into the couch. The familiar stiff fabric scrapes against his nose and he cries harder, fisting his hands into the ratty throw. 

“Phil,” He whimpers, every inch of him shaking. 

He finally checks his phone, his mouth falling open when he notices a missed call from Phil. He immediately presses redial and waits and waits, but an answer never comes. Fear floods his veins. He makes a decision very quickly.

He stands all at once, fiercely angry and lonely and brave. He drags a hand across his face and coughs weakly. He looks at the five boxes he filled earlier stacks them by the door. It’s only half ten so he hails a Lyft and treks down the stairs. 

“Hey, Daniel?” Theo says as Dan opens the door of his Toyota. 

“Yep,” Dan murmurs, crawling into the backseat. 

“Mm, what are you doing leaving home this late on a Wednesday?” A stranger murmurs from the other side of the backseat. Too poor to not use ride share.

“If there’s anything I’ve learned from the past two months, it’s not to tell anything to anybody,” Dan huffs.

“You just told me something,” The stranger grins, “have you really only learned that?”

Dan frowns, “I guess I’ve learned that anything can happen.”

“Good things?” 

Dan almost laughs, “The fucking worst things ever.” 

“Can’t be that bad. You laugh,” she smiles, only evident in the flashes of light from the streetlamps. 

“I guess it could be worse. I think I’ve fallen in love,” 

“Think?” She asks.

“Think. I’m crazy about him, absolutely mad about him. He drives me crazy,” Dan laughs, “doesn’t feel like the love I had with my ex.”

“Mm, sounds exactly like love to me. Have you cried over him?” 

Dan worries his lower lip, “yeah.”

“Is that his shirt?” She nods to the t-shirt he swiped from Phil’s closet yesterday.

He presses his lips together firmly and nods once.

“And are you going to his place right now?” She almost laughs when Dan rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. “Sure sounds like love to me.”

“Yeah,” Dan laughs stiffly, “I think you’re right.”

They pull up to Phil’s building and Dan bids her farewell, nervously clutching his phone to his thigh. 

Dan enters the flat with anxious fingers jabbing at the pin pad, typing the code and praying Phil hasn’t changed it. 

“Phil?” He calls the second he’s inside; the entire apartment is dark except for the city lights shining in through the windows that suddenly seem too ostentatious, too much. He needs Phil to be here.

Moments later Phil appears from his bedroom and he’s trembling in just boxers and a t-shirt that both appear soaked through. He coughs wetly into his hand and says, “Dan.”

“You fucking disappeared and then you called and then you didn’t answer when I called back and I heard- I heard, fuck, are you okay?” Dan is touching him on his shoulders and face, making sure he’s not dying. It’s a hasty pat down before Dan deems that he’s not hurt, but he’s definitely not okay.

Phil is shaking hard enough to send tremors through Dan when Dan hangs onto his shoulders. 

“I’m fine,” Phil says harshly, but his nails grip into Dan’s arms.

“Phil, Phil talk to me,” Dan’s fighting back tears of fear, “what did you take?”

“It’s not-“ Phil grinds his teeth together and lets go of Dan roughly. He twists his fists in his hair and tries to make it to the couch before collapsing onto the hardwood. 

“Fuck, do you want me to call an ambulance?!” Dan falls to his knees beside him.

“No,” Phil takes a steadying breath, “I didn’t want you to see me like- like this. I’m… fuck.”

Dan sits back on his knees, somewhat assuaged by Phil’s calmer tone. “You’re what, Phil?”

“Withdrawals. It’s bad,” Phil laughs, sharp and painful, “I’m keeping my promise, Dan.”

Of course Phil is keeping his promise, because he always zigs just when Dan thinks he’s about to zag. And damn if anyone has ever been loved like this, Dan thinks.

“Hey,” Dan puts a hand on Phil’s hip as the older man curls into a ball on the floor, bathed in moonlight. 

“Hi,” Phil whispers, broken.

“Thank you,”

“For?” Phil’s question is punctuated with a whimper and he presses his mouth against his wrist, biting down.

“I think,” Dan sniffs, “I think I forced you into promising that. And I just- I didn’t expect you to actually care enough to do it.”

“That hurts,” Phil forces a smile, “I do care.”

“Why didn’t you tell me where you were going? Why’d you just run off?” 

“I told you, I didn’t want you to see me like this,” Phil frowns.

“Then why did you call me when you did?” 

“Because I was worried I’d relapse without you,” 

Dan forces himself to not make a noise at that, instead he reaches his arms forward and takes both of Phil’s hands. They’re damp.

“I’ve got you. Do you want to go to my place? Far away from any temptation.” Dan asks.

“No, not right now, could I have a shot of that cherry rum?” Phil’s eyes are shut and his grasp on Dan’s hands is impossibly tight. 

“Is that the best idea?” Dan worries.

“Yeah, yeah. Better than pills,” Phil laughs again and this one sounds even less like a laugh. 

Dan can’t stop the shudder that passes through him and he tries to drag Phil to his feet. Unfortunately, Phil locks his nails into the leather of the couch he’s pressed against. 

“I don’t want to leave you alone,” Dan says firmly.

“Fine, fine,” Phil drags himself to his feet but almost instantly doubles over the couch. He vomits on the floor, narrowly missing the leather. 

Dan gives up on dragging Phil to the kitchen and instead shoves him back onto the couch. Phil collapses easily and buries his face into a pillow.

Dan is half way into pouring a small shot of rum into a champagne flute when Phil calls for him weakly.

“Dan, Dan- not alcohol. I’m being sick,” Phil mumbles before vomiting again into the wastebasket.

“Advil, then?”

“Pot?” Phil tries, like a kid who knows they won’t get candy for dinner but who isn’t afraid to ask. 

“Advil, then?” Dan repeats.

“Come on, anything else I’ll throw up. Please I just want two hits- anything,” Phil begs between dry heaves.

“You can have some Advil,” Dan shakes his head.

“Fuck you!” Phil groans, and Dan is taken aback. Phil rarely swears, and he has never directed anything like that at Dan. 

“What-“

“Fuck you, fuck Marcel, fuck pills, weed, fuck auditors, fuck my boss who wouldn’t let me work away from the office, fuck, prison, fuck,” Phil screams from the couch, his voice hoarse and raspy. Dan doesn’t have to see him to know Phil is crying.

“I know, babe,” Dan walks over with a cup of water and a couple pills. Phil has seemed inhuman until this moment and Dan feels a weird sense of peace watching him break down. As much as it hurts his heart, he needs to see this.

“I just said fuck you and you didn’t care. Why are you being nice to me?” Phil takes the pills obediently. 

“If you sincerely wanted me to go fuck myself you’d be fifty shades of high right now and the very fact you called me instead tells me the truth,” Dan kisses Phil’s clammy forehead. 

“Fuck you,” Phil repeats breathlessly, “you’re too good for me, too good.” 

“Hey, let’s lay off the swearing. That’s my thing,” Dan leans over the back of the couch and strokes Phil’s face.

“Have sex with me, right now,” Phil reaches his hands up blindly and tries to grab at Dan’s t-shirt. 

“No, not right now,” Dan takes a step away, taken aback by the request, “maybe later, when you’re not being sick all over the floor.”

“What if this never ends?” Phil whimpers.

“It will, this will pass. May pass like a kidney stone, but it will pass,” Dan soothes, locking his fingers back into Phil’s hair. “Want to take a shower?”

Phil nods helplessly, looking ridiculously pale in the low lighting. Dan smiles and helps Phil off the couch and around the sick. He remembers suddenly the first time he saw Phil in this shower, and the way it made him feel. Like fireworks, or something akin to burning under his skin. 

Something terrifying and bright.

Now, Dan turns on the light for the half-room and drags the rice paper divider Phil bought for guests in front of the giant window towering over the city. Dan doesn’t want anyone to see Phil like this; this wasn’t his Phil. This wasn’t for the world to see.

“Join me?” Phil’s eyes, brilliantly blue with wide pupils, beg him.

Dan just nods, stripping off Phil’s clothes first and then his own, the shower growing hot behind them. The shower has a bamboo bench along one side of the base and Dan pulls it under the water. Without any instruction, Phil curls up on it lying down. 

Dan sits under the shower on the smooth tile, crossing his legs and focusing on holding Phil’s hand. “It’ll be okay,” He whispers, his mouth parting and allowing shower water speaking down his face to fall between his lips.

“For you too,” Phil mumbles from where his face is pressed into the bench, and Dan presses his lips to Phil’s hand.

Dan spends time using a bath puff to lather soap into Phil’s skin. It breaks his heart how Phil doesn’t stop shaking the entire time. Dan whispers encouragements that may or may not get lost in the sounds of the water as Phil occasionally dry heaves over the drain.

When they’re both prune-y and Phil is almost asleep on the bench, Dan turns off the water and towels them both down. He kisses a line down Phil’s back and they go to Phil’s bedroom. 

It’s a mess.

Generally, Phil is not a neat person, but he keeps a semi-tidy room. Yesterday, his room was very put together. Tonight, however, there are clothes and tissues scattered on the floor. The en-suite’s door is wide open and the light is on- Dan doesn’t want to look inside. Phil collapses naked on the bed and burrows under the duvet. 

“Dan?” Phil whines from where he is hidden.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Dan assures, pulling on some of Phil’s pyjamas. 

“Clothes suck,” Phil protests, peeking out from the duvet.

“Not for me,” Dan climbs into bed finally, his phone reminding him that it is near four am. 

“You don’t want to touch me,” Phil frowns sincerely.

“You need sleep,” Dan refuses again, “close your eyes and I’ll sing to you.”

“Have you eaten today?” 

“It’s almost midnight, stop worrying about me,” Dan mirrors Phil’s frown.

“I’ll always-“ Phil begins, but then thinks better of it, “please sing to me.”

“What do you want to hear?” Dan runs a hand through Phil’s damp hair. He needs a haircut.

“Your voice,” Phil concludes.

“Watch out, I’ll start singing Ultralight Beam,” 

Phil mumbles something with his eyes closed.

“What?” Dan whispers.

“Anything you want,” Phil repeats, and then he’s breathing deeply and evenly. The tremors in his arms subside. The tremors in Dan’s nerves calm as Phil drifts off. 

Dan hums something from a videogame he meant to play at some point- Undertale. He’s been listening to the soundtrack on Spotify, but maybe one day he’ll get around to playing it. Maybe in another lifetime, where things are not so heavy.

Maybe one where he and Phil could be rich in a legitimate way, where they would be safe, and they could spend their days drinking hot cocoa and playing videogames. 

He pushes the thought to the back of his mind: right now he has bigger things to worry about. 

He clings to Phil and tries to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to follow me on twitter @softerlester ! you can bug me about updating or just say hi


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